


Vigilante Justice

by AppleScentedLazers



Category: Batman - All Media Types, Justice League - All Media Types, Young Justice (Cartoon), Young Justice - All Media Types
Genre: AU, Batman/Robin never joined the Justice League, Bruce's A+ parenting, Detective Grayson, Fluff and Angst, Found Family, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Mildly violent??, Sometimes just Angst, Sort of after season 1, Vigilante Nightwing, i try okay
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-05-07
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-03 03:42:57
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 23
Words: 71,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24058432
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/AppleScentedLazers/pseuds/AppleScentedLazers
Summary: When Dick and Bruce go their separate ways after no longer seeing eye-to-eye, the recently dubbed Detective Grayson finds his way over to a new city, where conspiracies are just beginning to boil.Meanwhile, the Young Justice team are sent by the League to investigate a mass homicide in none other than Blüdhaven, New Jersey's crime central.Their mission? To reveal the face behind the murders, and find out all they can about this newest vigilante, 'Nightwing'.Glorified Batman/Nightwing as vigilantes AU.
Relationships: Artemis Crock/Wally West, Kon-El | Conner Kent/M'gann M'orzz
Comments: 607
Kudos: 602





	1. A Walk in the Park

Working in the homicide division of Blüdhaven PD wasn’t exactly a walk in the park, but it did pay the bills and put food on the table.

Not that Dick actually had any time to grocery shop or eat, but that was beside the point.

“Detective Grayson, you still with us?” A sharp, feminine voice interrupted his contemplation.

He snapped to attention, back straightening immediately, “Never left, ma’am.”

The speaker, commissioner Sheila Griffin, snorted skeptically, “Just in case your memory of the last few minutes was a little…foggy, I was informing you of your new partnership with Detective Bollocks.”

Dick’s dark brows arched as he gave the man beside him a calculated once over. The other man was clean shaven, muscular, blond, and his hand just a teensy bit too close to his holster. 

Definitely a rookie.

After his quick investigation, he cleared his throat and shot the woman across from him a perturbed stare. “Might I speak with you in private for a moment, commissioner?”

The woman’s stone-cold features shifted into something decidedly darker, brown eyes shining with undisguised disappointment, “You are dismissed, Bollocks. Grayson will meet you outside.”

The boy—hardly a man—nodded nervously before disappearing out the shuttered door. 

Griffin stood, muscled arms crossed over her immaculate uniform and lips pressed into an unforgiving line.

Shelia Griffin was both the first African American and female commissioner in all of Blüdhaven history, having to fight tooth and nail to get the basic respect and appreciation she deserved. She had climbed to the top without a drop of bitterness; her simple hardworking determination eventually winning the approval of the higher ups.

All of this to say, she was one of the few people Dick actually trusted in his mess of a city.

“Please speak your mind, detective,” Her voice was laced with equal amounts sarcasm and honesty. “I know how hard it is for you to share your opinion.”

Now that last bit was just plain sarcasm. 

Dick contained a dramatic eyeroll and instead opened his mouth obligingly, “I seem to recall that when I first came to the precinct, we had a mutual understanding I would never be assigned a partner.” Something bitter flashed in his frigid blue eyes. “Am I mistaken?”

Griffin sighed, absently twirling a lock of her long hair around her pointer finger. “Look, Dick, I know you honestly believe going solo is what’s best for you, that carrying out this lone wolf charade is the only way to save everyone.”

He was about to object but she silenced him with a single glare,

“Don’t argue with me. You’ve been with us six months, but I can already tell you’re carrying a heck of a lot more than homicide cases on your shoulders. I don’t know if that has anything to do with the recent tabloid scandals I’ve been hearing about or if you’re just the broody type, and I honestly don’t care.”

She pressed a finger to her temple, breathing in deeply through her nose, “That man out there needs a mentor, and I think you could learn a lot from him too. Would you at least give him a shot?”

Dick shifted from foot to foot, still reluctant to tether himself to the junior detective. 

Her brown eyes drew him in, the hard wrinkles wreathing them betraying her age, “Please?”

If anyone else had asked this of him, any other officer in the region, he would’ve laughed them out the door. Griffin, however, was different. He respected this woman, which is why he found himself nodding.

Pure relief danced across her features before she was stoic again, pushing the required paperwork across the desk towards him, “Thank you. After this, you can return to your masculine, caffeinated solitude. Understood?”

He cracked a smile at her words, signing his name in the designated places. “Understood.”

“Now, please bring Detective Bollocks back in. His presence is required for the briefing.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Dick pulled the door open and waved the young man back inside. 

Commissioner Griffin pulled a tan file from her top desk drawer, placing it meticulously on her desk’s mahogany top. “Reports of mass gunfire at the Colter and Madeline Street warehouse district were filed this morning in the early hours, officer in the area reported at least eight dead. Possibly more inside.”

The ebony haired detective’s nose scrunched as he found the facts not lining up, “I thought that was the Gang’s turf, aren’t they relatively peaceful?”

Griffin snorted, “If you count four cases of armed robbery and assault peaceful, then I supposed so.”

He shook his head at her, a wry smile twisting his lips. “In this city, that’s borderline angelic.”

Out of the corner of his eyes he saw the younger detective’s mouth pop open, his eyes passing quickly from the commissioner, to him, and back again.

Rookie.

She ignored his quip, instead holding the file out to him, “I need you both to go and check out the scene. Forensics hasn’t done their thing, so try to keep the touching to a minimum. Got it?”

Dick nodded, plucking the file from her fingers and slipping it under his arm. 

Her lips turned into a downward grimace, “I’m warning you, it’s not pretty.”

“It never is,” He muttered before following Bollocks out the door. 

*

The Gang, known for their overwhelming creativity, were a teenage crime sect notorious mostly for their occasional storefront hold-ups and drug runs.

Being of high school age, it was suspected (though never proven), that the Gang provided a majority of the hard drugs in the Bludhaven schoolboard. 

Which is why Dick couldn’t comprehend why these kids, though definitely not innocent, would end up dead on their own territory. 

These thoughts were taking up so much space that it wasn’t until he was in his squad car, key in the ignition, that he remembered the newest addition to his one-man band.

“Bollocks indeed,” He grumbled under his breath as the young man stood outside the passenger door window, looking increasingly unsure of himself.

Was he this hesitant his first fay on the job? Dick watched as the man spoke, whatever he was saying muffled by the vehicle separating them. 

No. Dick most certainly was not.

For a moment, the detective was tempted to leave him behind; he had no need or want of the newbies help after all.

But then he recalled Commissioner Griffin’s pleading eyes. Rolling the passenger window down against his better judgement, he motioned for the other man to enter. “Get in.”

“T-thank you, sir,” The blond stuttered, practically flying into the offered seat like Dick was about to drive away without him

Which had almost been the case, so Grayson couldn’t really blame the guy.

Breathing in deeply through his nose, he slammed his foot onto the gas pedal and screeched forward, pulling out into traffic without glancing behind him. 

He heard Bollocks squeak, one of his pale hands grabbing at the handle above his head.

Smothering a smile, Dick sped off towards the crime scene, barely withholding a chuckle at the frightened sounds his new ‘partner’ was producing.

The detective was notorious in the precinct for his reckless driving—which he argued wasn’t really reckless, as he was in control the whole time—but he figured the whole 'Need for Speed' mentality came from his time in the Batmobile.

Grunting at the sudden recollection, he cut a corner especially close and shoved the thoughts to the back of his mind. This was not the time nor place for reminiscing.

He braked hard at the entrance to the Colter warehouse district, turning towards his panting companion. “Too fast for you?”

“You…are insane.” The man slowly worked un-pried his fingers from their death grip.

Surprised at the other’s sudden show of bravery, or maybe fear, Dick smiled toothily at him, “Thank you. Now, would you please see where we’re supposed to be going?”

Fumbling the file off the car’s questionably clean dashboard, the blond sifted through it until he came across the warehouse number. “B 23, sir.”

“Thanks."

Navigating carefully through the maze of tall, grey buildings, he soon found the one they were looking for. 

He grabbed his vest from the back seat and pulled it over his head, expertly doing up the straps with practiced ease. Stepping out of the car, he pocketed the keys and re-checked his holster, eyeing the warehouse up and down carefully.

Two known exists; multiple floors judging by the window placement; concrete foundations; and low maintenance upkeep. The perfect base for a burgeoning drug cartel.

Bollocks stepped up beside him, his long fingers trembling on his vest straps as he buckled them into place. 

“You ever been in the field before, detective?” Dick asked, praying the kid has some form of experience. 

In actuality, Bollocks probably had a few years on him. The man looked to be about mid twenties, maybe late if he pushed it. Grayson, however, despite his younger age, made up for his youth in staggering combat and stealth expertise. 

Being a vigilante since nine would do that to a person.

“No,” Bollocks answered his question. “I’ve done drills, sure, but never anything like this.”

Great. Dick resisted the urge to facepalm. Griffin had bridled him with an absolute greenhorn; now he’d have to keep both himself and the newbie alive. “We’re just investigating the building. Probably won’t see anything living.”

The rookie detective shuddered minutely, finally finishing with his vest. 

“Ready?” Grayson asked, trying to keep the belligerence out of his tone. If alone, he would probably be halfway over with the investigation by now.

“Yes.”

“Let’s go, then.” 

Dick took the lead, steadily approaching the entrance door. A security camera watched them from above, its scrutinizing black lens apparently doing nothing to steady Bollock’s anxiety.

Trying the handle, he wasn’t at all to find that it had been previously jimmied. “Stay behind me, got it?”

The blond nodded, wide blue eyes trembling in their sockets. 

It was technically procedure to enter with guns-a-blazing, ready to combat whatever might be waiting for them on the other side, but Dick still resisted using his firearm when possible. Call it cowardice, call it morals; he just didn’t like it.

He threw the door open, charging in with an echoing, “BPD!”

The unstealthiness (was that a word?) of it all made him cringe, the caution instilled in him from day one protesting wildly.

Thankfully, there was no one to greet them except the dead bodies. 

Maybe not thankfully, but at least they weren’t getting shot at.

The smell of death, unfortunately familiar, assaulted his nose and throat. Ignoring it, he did a quick assessment of the room around them.

It was long, the entire length of the warehouse, and filled with various common place household items. A couch here, lamp there. Even an old TV mounted up on an empty bookshelf. 

If it weren’t for the bodies, this would look like any regular drug bust.

There were seven men and one woman sprawled out on the concrete floor, dried blood surrounding each of them in at least a two-foot radius.

He heard Bollocks gag behind him, the poor freshie probably drastically unprepared for the carnage. 

It wasn’t as gory as some of the things Dick had born witness too, just quick and clean shots to the chest and head, but the sight still caused his fists to clench. 

These were kids, barely older than he was when he’d first become Robin. Nobody, especially not them, deserved to be killed. 

Putting his anger on the back burner, he stepped towards the closest man and squatted beside him. Judging by the angle of the brutal hole torn into his back, the bullet had come from…

Dick turned, following the invisible path with his minds eye toward the warehouse’s upstairs, a rickety set of stairs connecting the two floors. 

He frowned, turning his gaze back towards the bodies. By the looks of things, the attack had been a surprise; the first couple bodies furthest from the stairs hadn’t had time to run. The other’s, likely startled by their companions’ sudden demises, had bolted for the door. 

“Bullet holes in the back, my friend.” Dick commented, hoping to distract Bollocks from the grisly sight he was now being forced to deal with. “Can you tell me what that means?”

The man stumbled over to him, a hand covering his mouth as he gave each body a wide berth. “They weren't facing their attacker.”

His voice soft, he offered a small smile to his companion. “Very good, do you know what that means?”

Bollocks looked somewhat calmer now, small lines setting between his eyes as he tried to recall his training. “Ah, they were either just turned around or…running?” 

Dick nodded, “Right.” Now that the other was significantly less skittish, he hopped back up to his feet. “If the first few to go down were taken by surprise, that could mean we have a civil gang war on our hands. Likely they weren’t anticipating an attack.”

“It could also mean they were taken out by a sniper though, sir.” The other detectives voice wavered at the words ‘taken out’, “I mean, if they never even saw it coming, they probably weren’t expecting anything.”

Grayson was pleasantly taken aback by Bollock’s theory, as it reflected his own. It was becoming apparent that, though a complete and utter newbie, maybe the detective had potential. 

Maybe…maybe having a partner again wouldn’t be so bad.

“Well, I think that’s the best we can do for now. Not much to go on, but maybe the guys down in forensics can—”

And that’s when he felt it, the unmistakable sensation of a weapon being trained on you. Dick wasn’t sure if it was just a strange sixth sense he had or if all combat-honed veterans felt it; goosebumps at the neck. A sudden drop in core temperature. Fear. Adrenaline.

He just knew something was aimed at him.

Reacting on pure instinct, he threw himself at Bollocks, hurtling through the air as if in slow motion. 

It was while he was briefly airborne, no longer than a second, that he heard two shots fired in rapid succession. 

Pain briefly bit into his both his mid-bicep as he knocked into the taller man, sending both of them crashing to the ground. 

Ignoring the fire in his arm, he pushed himself up off the detective and braced his elbows against the concrete. 

What he saw made him wince.

Detective Bollock’s eyes were glazed over, the life already having seeped out through the hole in his forehead. Dead centre.

Dick felt his steady hands check for a pulse despite the fact that he knew there would be none, the skin beneath the young man’s neck still warm to the touch. 

The sound of something falling against wooden boards, quickly followed by the frantic slap of feet, alerted him to the fact that the cop-killer was making a break for it.

The muted ringing that had been clogging his ears ever since the first shot burst like a bubble, sending him dashing into action once again. 

Heaving himself away from Bollock’s still form, he took off in a dead sprint towards the stairs, faintly recognizing that the footsteps had come from above. 

Taking them three at a time, his eyes quickly adjusted to the dimmer lighting of the second floor. It was much less clean than the room below, rows of stocked shelves creating a veritable maze. 

Off to his left, where the loft-like opening revealed a perfect view of the bodies below, was an abandoned sniper rifle. Ten bullet cases were tossed carelessly around it.

Dick observed this all in a second, his eyes quickly tracking the prints in the disturbed dust leading away from the gun.

Large, wide prints. He was likely dealing with a man then. 

He took off at a breakneck pace, his whole body leaning into the run as his legs pounded the wood beneath him.

As he followed the trail around a row of shelves, he saw a man in black booking it for a window at the end of the warehouse with reckless abandon, barely dodging the various shelves and crates.

Dick followed, quickly gaining on the man, his years of pushing his body to its limits and beyond more than paying off.

Believing himself to be in the clear, the killer glanced carelessly over his shoulder. A ruby-red mask caught the light as he turned, eyes widening beneath the swathe of fabric as he saw his pursuer was not as far behind as he’d hoped.

The slip gave Dick just the time he needed to catch up, simultaneously revealing just who the man was.

Sniper. A low tier hit man chock full of Nazi fantasies and white supremist ideologies. His identity was as of yet unknown, probably due to the fact Bruce had never cared enough to look into it.

Panicking, Sniper seized a nearby shelving unit and knocked it down into Dick’s path. Bottles of cleaner and other miscellaneous items rolled underneath his feet.

The hit man took off again, beelining straight for the window. He was likely hoping to jump out, despite the fact they were on the second story.

Grunting, the detective vaulted over the shelf, putting his acrobatics to good use as he sailed over it. To brace his fall, he tucked into a neat somersault, settling back into his sprint with barely a break in stride. 

Sniper was ahead of him now, too far to tackle and seconds from the window. Refusing to let the man escape, Dick snatched his gun out of its holster and took aim.

He could feel his face go slack, that familiar chill seeping into his veins as he readied himself to hurt another living creature. A horrible, despicable one sure, but still a being of blood and bone.

Two booms rent the air again, this time firing from the detective’s own weapon. There was a light whistle and then the killer buckled, crying out as he hit the boards.

The ebony’s chest shuddered, slowly pulling himself back from the precipice. A tremor wracked his hand and he tossed the gun aside, palms tingling from where they’d touched the cold metal.

Pulling his cuffs from their compartment at his lower back, he cinched Sniper’s wrists together with more force than was strictly necessary. 

“Officer down at Madeline Street and Colbert warehouse district, B23, suspect apprehended and injured. Requesting back-up and emergency vehicles.” He spoke into the radio at his shoulder, dragging the downed man to his feet.

The villain screamed, tears actually spilling out from behind his mask, “You knee-capped me!” He sobbed, bracing his body against the detectives. “This is police brutality!”

Dick didn’t react to the man’s cries, simply helping him stagger back towards the stairs.

Like he’d said, the homicide division was definitely no walk in the park.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey there! Thanks for reading :)
> 
> If you have any questions/thoughts just let me know, I'll answer them soon as possible!
> 
> I'm hoping to update at least once a week, but maybe twice. We'll have to see how the story flows :3
> 
> Stay cool, cucumbers!
> 
> ~ASL


	2. A Missing Link

Kaldur’ahm, better known by his alias Aqualad, loved his team. He loved their resident speedster, Kryptonian clone, sunny-side Martian, and quippy archer. They were his family; brothers and sisters.

On some days, however, he felt as though something were missing. As if there should be a sixth member to their group of five. 

It was this odd sensation that filled him as he watched Kid Flash hork down an entire buffet of food, barely swallowing as it disappeared into his mouth. 

Conner was on the couch, the familiar buzz of static filling the room, and M’gann was somewhere off with Artemis, probably training.

Lately, the Martian had been dead set on gaining more hand-to-hand combat skills, insistent she wouldn’t drag them down.

Her and Superboy were still a steady thing, their relationship having its many, many ups and downs but ultimately pulling through in the end. 

Wally and Artemis were a different story. They had never acknowledged their feelings for each other, yet were both so obviously in love with each other. It was like they needed someone to point it out to them.

Which was unfortunate, as Aqualad refused to play matchmaker and Conner and M’gann were so wrapped up in each other they weren't even aware of their teammates’ mutual pining.

It was like the Atlantean had thought; they were missing something. Had been for a while now. 

He was about to put a stop to Wally’s gluttony when the cave’s intercom suddenly pinged, 

“Young Justice to the briefing room, Young Justice to the briefing room.” Red Tornados stiff voice sounded over the system, sounding like a plane’s PA. He’d been working on ‘becoming human’ off and on since the whole run in with his family, but it was still a work in progress.

A slow, painful, work in progress.

Either way, Aqualad found his clinical tone to be rather soothing in times like this. The mechanical precision wasting no time on idyllic human mannerisms.

“Awethome,” There was a loud gulp, like too much food being pushed down too little throat. “We haven’t had a mission in so long.”

A canary suited man fell into step beside him, his frame much more filled out then it had been in their teenage years. 

Their costumes hadn’t changed, nor had their mission statement. They were still a young group of heroes—though now in their early twenties—who carried out low profile operations separately from the Justice League.

Maybe now they were a little more experienced, a little more sure of themselves, a little more stealthy; but not much else had evolved.

He liked it that way, preferred the tight knit trust they’d developed. They were thinking of expanding their group someday soon, adding on a few more young members to keep the torch burning and all that.

For now, they were content.

Artemis and M’gann were already in the briefing room when the three men arrived, Wally still chattering amicably about their recent lack of missions.

The ginger fell silent when he came in sight of Artemis, lowering his goggles back over his eyes with a snap. 

Aqualad sighed at the sudden tension, turning towards the android with a raised hand, “Greetings, Red Tornado. What mission do you have for us today?”

The overhead screen turned on, revealing a stagnant satellite image of an overcast city. “I am sure you are familiar with the Batman?”

All the young heroes nodded, their faces twisting into frowns.

Batman was a bit of a sore spot for the Justice League and all involved, his consistent pursuit of vigilantism an arrogant affront in their eyes.

When the League had first formed, uniting heroes of all races, creeds, and species, under sanctioned law, the offer had been extended to the mystery of Gotham. The bat, however, had completely ignored them.

Now he was technically a fugitive of sorts, a shoot and ask questions later kind of deal. However, no one in his city wanted to shoot him, or take him off the streets. Crime was at an all time low thanks to his lawless efforts.

Thus, he continued his ungoverned work to keep the bloody streets safe.

“And I assume you are also aware of his fellow lawbreaker, operating under the alias ‘Robin’?” A blurry picture of a short, lean figure dressed in clashing hues and making a peace sign, his face shrouded in shadow, flashed across the screen.

The picture was quite old, having taken the media by storm when it first surfaced eleven years ago.

The Batman had to have lost his mind, is what some people said. Taking on a child to help him fight crime? The boy would end up hurt, or worse, dead.

Robin had persisted however, growing under his mentor’s shadow as he remained out of the spotlight. Pictures of the two together or apart would surface every now and then. 

People began to adjust, some even growing fond of the Boy Wonder.

But then, several years later, the dark knight had taken in other child, raising up another Robin. It was almost as if the man was collecting them.

Then the news release that the second Robin, the younger of the two, had died began to spread. Things hit the fan; the Justice League was even more insistent on putting an end to the Bat’s illegal actions. The Batman remained untouchable.

“What about them?” Kid Flash asked inquisitively, eyes narrowing behind his cowl. Though the ginger was practically chaos personified, he also believed in things having an order. Being outside the law, free from responsibility, messed up that order he had.

Aqualad smothered his smile, slipping his stony visage back in place, “I, too, must ask where you are going with this.”

“The municipality of Bludhaven, New Jersey, saw the rise of a new vigilante two nights ago. Though unfamiliar, we suspect he has something to do with the original Robin’s two-year absence from Gotham. Though whether the two are one in the same, or this one simply a copycat, is unclear at his time.”

Now that the Atlantean thought about it, he couldn’t recall the last time he’d seen the eldest Boy Wonder and Batman together.

Interrupting his thoughts, Red Tornado carried on with his explanation, “It was rumored that the first Robin had quit, left his mask behind.” An online article reading ‘Mysterious new hero in Jersey: hope for Bludhaven?’ was displayed on screen, the follow-up picture being a blurry black silhouette.

Artemis stepped closer, her grip on her bow tightening, “Is he another vigilante?”

“Yes, the League has received no contact with him, and the Hero Initiative has no knowledge of his purpose or intent. At first, we were going to leave this to local authorities, but a recent mass murder has snared our interest.”

He switched the image, showing a dimly lit warehouse with eight bodies sprawled on the floor.

M’gann gasped, anger pooling beneath the short fringe of her red hair, “That's horrible.”

“Yes,” Red Tornado’s voice was low, verging on soft. “It is.”

“And your guessing this new guy did it?” Conner’s deep timbre had them all turning towards him. “What? I’m right, aren’t I?”

“Quite right,” The android answered. “He makes his debut, and two days later there’s a mass murder of low-tier drug runners. It does seem the logical conclusion.”

The raven haired gave them all a glare that clearly read, 'see? I’m not crazy'.

“Alright,” Aqualad turned back to their old den mother. “Then what is the purpose of our mission?”

“As of now, to convince this new vigilante to join the Justice League, or at least operate under some form of law.”

“Good,” Wally muttered under his breath. “I’m on board.”

“But, if they should resist, you are to bring them in. We cannot have another Batman situation on our hands.”

“Where will our base of operations be? The Cave?” M’gann sounded almost hopeful, like the idea of staying at her home held great appeal.

“Negative,” Red Tornado held out two sets of keys. “We have acquired temporary residence for you within the city. Flying back and forth would be cumbersome as we have yet to set up a zeta-beam in Bludhaven. You will not be under stealth obligations when in costume, this mission does not require secrecy of any kind. We have already informed local authorities to your arrival. However, you may be called in intermediately for other missions. Understood?”

“What about school?” Artemis and Wally protested at the same time, shooting each other twin frowns when their voices overlapped.

Both of them were attending the same college, seeming simultaneously overjoyed and deeply annoyed by their proximity. 

Like he'd said, the two were confusing.

“You have both been sponsored for a month-long out of town internship by the benevolent Oliver Queen. Do thank him, when you have the time.” Red Tornado powered down the monitor, his empty sockets seeming to fix on each of them in turn. “Do you accept the mission parameters?”

Aqualad didn’t even have to glance at his teammates to know they were with him, their unanimous understanding clear. Stepping forward, he raised his head, “We do.”

If the Atlantean didn’t have a buzzcut, he was fairly certain he would be tearing his hair out right now. According to M’gann’s ETA, they were a few minutes out from their landing zone, and the time couldn’t pass any slower.

“I’m just raising the possibility that the new guy could be a woman,” Artemis reiterated, crossing her arms over her bare navel with a frown. “Don’t be so sexist.”

“You just said ‘guy’! You literally just said it!” Wally swiveled in his seat, piercing their team leader with his green gaze. “You heard her say it, right?”

Aqualad quickly centered himself, breathing in deeply through his nose and out again. “I have nothing to say on the matter. Though Artemis’ argument is most compelling.”

“Traitor.”

“’Guy’ is a gender-neutral term in this day and age,” The green archer continued. “I figured you, of all people, would be up to date on today’s slang.”

“The person in the picture was most definitely a man.” Wally returned stubbornly, tit-for-tat. “You’ll see.”

“I’m not saying he’s one or the other, just that he could be a woman! You shouldn’t just assume—”

“You just said he! Twice!”

Groaning, Aqaulad turned away from them in his seat and rested his head in his hands, silently wishing he could just copy Conner.

The Kryptonian was laid back. Eyes closed and noise cancelling headphones over his heightened ears. It looked extremely ideal from the frazzled leader’s point of view.

“Man!”

“Woman!”

“Man!”

“Woman!”

Ma—”

“We’re here,” M’gann’s voice cut the pair’s argument off, Aqualad sighing in relief. 

They touched down on the ground, the bioship’s landing smooth as ever. The lower hatch popped open and the heroes stepped out, M’gann putting into stealth mode as soon as they exited. 

Glancing around carefully, the Atlantean guessed they were in some kind of lot, large storage units spaced out around them.

“The people are two buildings over,” The Martian said sheepishly. “I didn’t want to scare them.”

“You did well, M’gann,” Aqualad reassured her with a soft smile. “Ready, team?”

“Born ready,” Kid Flash flashed brilliant white teeth at him.

"Born ready'," Artemis sneered, mocking his tone. "Can't believe I have such an idiot for a teammate."

"Hey," The ginger turned, winking at her through his tinted lenses. "I might be dumb, but at least I'm beautiful."

"Ohmygod, She groaned, arrows rattling in their quiver. Aqualad wasn't facing the archer, but he knew she'd just rolled her eyes.

Centering himself for what felt like the millionth time that day, the Atlantean gestured for them to move out.

It was time to face the future, no matter what 'd bring.

Moving forward, M’gann led them two buildings over.

He was just beginning to wonder how’d they know which one it was—as all these buildings looked the exact same to him—when six police cars and an ambulance came into view, blue and red lights flashing.

It looked like they’d just finished loading someone inside the emergency vehicle, two paramedics slamming the double doors shut before knocking on the back.

“I thought Red Tornado said the murders had already happened?” Artemis glanced around carefully, as if expecting someone to pop out of the shadows and drive a knife through her gut. “Why would they need an ambulance?”

Aqualad spotted a tall, African American woman standing off to the side, another officer next to her. She cut an imposing figure, muscled legs and arms swelling against her professional uniform.

Dark eyes zeroed in on his brightly dressed companions, her flats clicking as she began to power walk towards them. 

“Welcome, I assume you’re the team from the Justice League?” Her voice was commanding, authoritative. The militaristic Atlantean’s back automatically straightened as he answered,

“Yes, ma’am. I’m Aqualad, team leader. This is Artemis, Kid Flash, Superboy, and Miss Martian.” He pointed to each of his teammates in turn, begging them with his eyes not to do anything stupid.

They were usually pretty good, but after hearing Artemis’ and Wally’s argument on the ship…he had to make sure.

“Commissioner Sheila Griffins, and this is deputy McKibben,” She gestured to a rugged brunet, the officer who’d been standing beside her earlier, who gave a half-hearted wave.

“Thank you,” Aqualad watched behind the commissioner as the ambulance sped away, sirens droning loudly. “Would you care to explain the situation to us?”

“If I might be so bold,” The man, McKibben, fixed them each with an appraising stare. Evidently, he didn’t like what he saw. “You all seem a might young to be playing at heroes.”  


Behind him, he could feel his teammates bristle. He had to act quickly before one of them snapped. “Your concerns are valid, but I assure you we are perfectly capable of handling things.”

The officer opened his mouth again, but Commissioner Griffin silenced him with a single look, turning back to them with an unspoken apology in her eyes, “I trust you to do as you see fit. I’ve seen heroes in action before and am honoured to have so many praise-worthy ones in my city.”

“Thank you,” He said again, half-smiling now. 

“Now, McKibben will take you to our remaining witness.” Her eyes narrowed and Aqualad, though he didn’t have much experience reading faces, could see genuine concern in hers. “Though a little…difficult, at times, he’s the best detective in the precinct”

“A ‘little’,” McKibben muttered under his breath. “The man’s the most annoy—”

“Officer, that is quite enough.” The commissioner’s voice was final, her tone cold enough to replenish the icecaps. 

“Yes, ma’am,” He nodded his head reluctantly, motioning for them to fall in line behind him. “One of our patrol officers checked out some gunfire in the area early this morning, found the bodies of eight minors, all with previous narcotic charges.”

“That’s terrible,” M’gann remarked, eyes wide.

The officer looked pleasantly surprised by her sentiment, “Yes, I think so too.” He cleared his throat, “We asked our ‘finest detective’ and his brand-new partner to check it out, see what they could surmise. He can tell you the rest.”

Aqualad followed the man’s finger to a single squad car, the closest one to the taped off warehouse. It didn’t look like there was anyone there. 

The Atlantean shook the man’s outstretched hand, “Thank you again.”

“Just try not to kill him,” The man sighed heavily. “Or do. I really could care less.” Then he huffed and walked away, looking like a petulant toddler.

Kid Flash whispered something unsavory under his breath, causing Artemis to snort.

“He was…unpleasant,” Superboy commented bluntly. His blue eyes studying the squad car critically. 

Nodding his assent, Aqualad walked towards the vehicle, stopping short in surprise when he came around to the back of it.

There were two men; a young, dark haired one sitting on the pavement; and another with scruffy features and sparse grey hair.

The older was more filled out, a bit paunchy in the middle, and was swabbing at the bloody arm of the other with surprising gentleness. “You have to stop gettin’ shot. Yer’ll put me in an early grave, lad.”

Assuming this elderly man to be the infamous detective, he cleared his throat and offered his hand out, “Are you the witness we’re supposed to speak to?”

The younger man’s head snapped upwards with disconcerting speed, taking in the motley of heroes before him with a swift eye. 

Aqualad could’ve sworn he saw suspicion in those blue depths before it vanished, quickly replaced by a mirthless smile.

Maybe he’d simply been imagining things. He wasn’t the best at reading faces, after all.

“Eh?” The older man he’d addressed bumbled around, revealing sun-tanned skin and caterpillar brows, “Who ‘er you?”

“Aqualad,” He offered his hand out, dropping it back to his side when he saw the other man ogling his dark tattoos. “This is my team,” He quickly introduced them again, frowning when the man couldn’t seem to take his eyes off of Wally’s vibrant costume.

“Are ye heroes, mates?” The man’s eyes were still comically large, the gauze he’d been holding dropping to the rough ground. “Like ‘em big timin’ ones I see on the telly?”

“Yes,” Kid Flash stepped forward, giving him a tiny bow. “Now, if you don’t mind, are you the detective?”

“Me? Detective?” He looked at the sky, as if maybe the answer was written up there before turning back to them. “What makes ye say that?”

“Well, aren’t you?” Aqualad felt like he was speaking in riddles. 

“No?” 

“Really?” Artemis asked, stepping forward with a hostile glare. “Are you sure?”

“Can we please stop with the questions?” Superboy muttered darkly, not loud enough for the older man to hear.

The younger, still on the ground, started laughing, the sound sending chills up and down the Atlantean’s back. It wasn’t so much a laugh as it was a deep cackle, eerily grating on his ears. 

“Stop teasing them, Frank. Isn’t it time you retire?” His voice was surprisingly light, offsetting his previously dark countenance. Then he looked at Aqualad again and the glare was back, his tone flat. “How can I help you?”

Wait, this guy…was the precinct’s best detective? The Atlantean was all for not holding someone’s age against them, but he looked young. Too young.

Unless all the detectives in the precinct were horrible, which, given the city’s crime rate, was a distinct possibility. Maybe this man was just the best by default. 

“So, you’re the detective?” Kid Flash asked, his skeptical tone reflecting Kaldur’s thoughts exactly. 

The man they’d mistaken for the detective sat up, his large belly wobbling under his uniform. “I’ll go grab the tapes, lad. See what they show us.”

The dark-haired man waved as the elder walked away, ambling towards the warehouse.

As soon as he was out of sight, the recently revealed detective’s smile slipped completely off his face as he scrutinized each of them in turn, the brightest blue eyes Aqualad had ever seen prying into his very soul. 

Once he was done, the whole ordeal lasting no more than a second, he picked the gauze up and began to wrap it around his arm with casual expertise.

Clearing his throat, Aqualad crouched so that he was at eye level with the man, “Commissioner Griffin said you could fill us in on what happened here?”

Finishing with his makeshift bandage, the man ripped it off with his teeth and tossed the gauze back to the ground. “I’ll give you the grand tour.” He rose to his feet, revealing himself to be much shorter than he’d looked sitting down.

Now that he was up, Aqualad could see the tired tautness to his form, the packed bags under his eyes, all of it making him look older than he likely was. Even the way he carried himself slightly bent, as if the whole world were resting on those shoulders, betrayed a wariness that didn't match his youthful face.

The Atlantean was carefully looking the other up and down, wondering how this unintimidating, small statured man had become Bludhaven’s best detective, when he heard Artemis gasp.

The rest of the team and the detective turned toward her. 

“What?” Wally asked, his tone tinged with mild panic. “What’s wrong?”

“That’s Richard Wayne!” Her eyes were blown wide beneath the mask as if she couldn’t believe what they were seeing.

“Who’s that?” Conner asked flatly, staring at the small man with a frown. "A famous person?”

The name struck a familiar chord in the back of Aqualad’s mind, but he couldn’t place from where he recognized it. 

“Richard Grayson, actually.” He sounded like random people shouted his name out all the time, as if this was a perfectly average day-in-the-life situation. “But I prefer Dick.”

“Dude,” Wally, ever the mature one, snorted out a laugh. “Are you sure you want us calling you that?”

“I can’t believe you don’t recognize him,” Artemis was still speaking. “He’s basically the prince of Gotham.”

Ah, that was where Aqualad had heard the name before; the adopted son of billionaire Bruce Wayne, owner of Wayne Enterprises. An avid supporter of the Justice League who actively smeared the name of Batman through the mud.

“You’re talking to a Martian, Atlantean, and Kryptonian clone.” Kid Flash shook his head at the green archer, “They literally have no idea who he is.”

Aqualad was tempted to argue, but decided that their conversation had been de-railed enough. “Would you mind explaining the situation to us? I apologize for the mix-up earlier.”

“Not at all,” He waved a hand absently at them with his good arm, narrowed eyes betraying the casual civility. “If you’ll follow me, I’ll give you guys the grand tour.”

Without waiting, he started off towards the nearest warehouse. The team quickly went after, heavy boots padding against the concrete.

While they were walking, he overheard Artemis talking to Wally, her voice not nearly as quiet as she thought it was, “That’s probably why he’s their best detective, you know?”

“No,” Kid Flash answered, not even bothering to keep his voice down. “I don’t.”

There was a certain distain in the archer’s voice when she spoke again, like she had a vendetta against the man they’d all just met. “I mean, his names probably carried him to the top. Old money, and all that.”

Aqualad didn’t bother listening to Wally’s answer, instead glancing at the man leading them to see if he’d heard. If Detective Grayson’s clenched jaw was anything to go by, he had.

“Here we are, watch your step.” His voice was a low monotone when he finally stopped in front of them, holding no audible ill will. Just dry exhaustion. 

The team leader followed him in through the door, wincing at the putrid stink that assaulted his nose. He recognized it as the smell of blood, rot, and death. Not a pleasant combination. 

Nine body bags were lined up against a far wall, immediately drawing a frown onto Aqualad’s face. This was his least favourite part of their job; having to see the people they’d failed to save.

There was dried blood spots on the floor, randomly dotting the pale concrete. A group of five officers were conferring in the corner, white plastic gloves adorning their hands.  


They all but ignored their fellow detective, who lead the heroes towards a staircase and began to ascend. “Frank will grab the tapes so you can watch them back at the station, but they’re probably pretty gristly. Just so you’re warned.”

“We appreciate the forewarning.” Kaldur answered stiffly, knowing his team would be able to handle it. “Would you mind giving us a quick run down before we see them?”

“Of course.” The man showed them a dropped gun, casings littering the floor around it. “A low league villain, really just a hired mercenary, took out eight of the Gang earlier this morning. Gunshots were heard around eleven by one of our patrol officers; he was the one who found the bodies.

“Another detective and I arrived on the scene twenty minutes ago, but the killer was still here,” He dragged in a heavy sigh, blinking slowly at the gun in front of them. “He eliminated officer Bollocks and ran. I pursued and apprehended him. After our altercation, the villain required medical attention.”

That explained the ambulance, though Aqualad couldn’t quite imagine this short, billionaire’s son pursuing anything, let along a dangerous killer. He decided to keep that to himself, however.

“I am sorry for your loss, sir,” M’gann’s voice was soft, her head inclined slightly at the detective. “That must’ve been quite hard.”

“Hazards of the job.” The man remarked slowly, tearing his gaze away from the killer’s weapon. “Do you need a ride back to the station?” The look in his eyes implied he wanted to do no such thing, but common courtesy was driving him forward.

Taking the hint, Aqualad shook his head, “No, that won’t be necessary. We have our own mode of transportation.”

The detective gave them a half-hearted salute, “I’ll be on my way then. I assume you know where you’re going?”

“Google Maps,” Wally quipped from the behind the team leader. “Is a wonderful resource.”

Grayson cracked an unreadable smile and turned to leave, waving at them over his shoulder as he made his way to the first floor.

“Well he seems…” M’gann trailed off, scratching at her short red hair. 

Conner, ever the tactless of the pair, grunted. “He doesn’t like us.”

“That would be the money talking,” Artemis’ tone held that same quiet dislike. “All the people from Gotham with old money backing them are like that.”

After their first altercation with the Light, when they’d truly become a team for the first time, Artemis had shared her backstory.

How her mother had struggled after being released from prison; how she’d been unable to provide for her daughter and send her to school.

Though Aqualad didn’t agree with her hate, he did understand where she was coming from.

“All I ask is that you keep an open mind, Artemis. I know you are smart enough to make educated decisions.”

The archer nodded, though her lips were still turned down into a disdainful grimace.

“He didn’t seem so bad,” Wally murmured, either ignoring or not seeing the glare the blonde shot him. “Though I agree with Conner; he definitely didn’t like us.”

The Atlantean nodded briefly, watching as the black-haired man slipped into the abandoned squad car.

They knew when they weren’t appreciated; and this detective most definitely wanted nothing to do with them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Soooo we've got some Aqualad. Don't get me wrong; I love his character and all, but I sometimes find his POV really hard to write. Like it's...stiff, or something.
> 
> Also, I always thought that if Dick/Robin wasn't a team member, that would leave a a pretty big hole in their dynamic. I tried to get this chapter to reflect that :3
> 
> And we have an update schedule *fiery drumroll*.......SuNdAyS. That'll be all.
> 
> Thanks so much for reading! Anything you specifically want to see happen??
> 
> Stay safe :)
> 
> ~ASL


	3. A New Question

Once they settled into the bioship again, they hovered above Grayson’s car until he left. 

Tailing him above the dirty city streets, they quickly arrived at the BPD. A nondescript, two story grey brick building with a pitifully small parking lot. 

M’gann touched down on the roof, the ship cloaking itself as soon as they were all out.

They did have to break the lock on the rooftop door, but it was old and rusty. Hopefully no one would miss it. 

Heading downwards, they soon found a surprised officer who took them to the main lobby.

Grayson was standing there with Frank, Deputy McKibben, and Commissioner Griffin. The four looked confused when they saw the heroes were already inside their facility, but evidently wrote it off as more hero theatrics. 

Reunited, they headed towards the commissioner’s officer, wherein they would view the tapes. Hopefully, the video would answer some questions, like what this all had to do with the new vigilante. 

“Showing confidential evidence outside of a safe room isn’t exactly procedure,” The tall, intimidating woman warned them, her fingers twisting her door locked. “I would greatly appreciate it if you kept to an unofficial code of silence.”

“We understand,” Artemis quickly reassured, motioning to her own mask. “We’re very good at keeping secrets.”

The black-haired detective who was setting up the video monitor snorted, covering it up with a loud cough into his hand. 

When the room’s occupants all turned to him, he muttered a quick, “Sorry, allergies.” 

His tone was anything but apologetic.

Griffins merely sighed at his behaviour, motioning for them to take a seat in the provided chairs. “Thank you, Detective Grayson, for setting this all up. We truly appreciate it.”  
McKibben scoffed, “Most of us do, that is.”

The commissioner pinched the bridge of her nose at her subordinates’ behaviour, sliding into one of the chairs herself. 

When they were all seated in front of the monitor except for Grayson, the man clicked on one of the time slots and pressed play, standing off to the side with his arms crossed over his chest.

The security camera recording was a little fuzzy, but the faces of the teenagers relaxing in the warehouse were still discernible. 

Some were playing cards while others were simply staring at their dilapidated TV, talking quietly amongst themselves. The tape had no sound, which wasn’t the end of the world but did make things a little trickier.

“How long do we have to watch them chit-chat?” McKibben whined, his heel pounding the floor with Flash levels of restlessness. “Did you pick the wrong time stamp or somet—”

On screen, the teenager closest to the stairs suddenly folded over like a broken doll, their body soundlessly colliding with the floor.

Pandemonium broke out as they began to drop like flies, blood spurting as bullets tore through their skin. Each shot was meticulous, delivering a single killing stroke into the victim.

Aqualad wished he could look away, or at least block out the kids’ frightened expressions as they fought towards the door.

Only when the last one had fallen did Grayson step forward again, skipping over when the patrol officer came in and reported the incident. Choosing a new time stamp, he hit play again. 

The camera shot was from outside; two men stepped out of a lone squad car and did up their vests, one of them obviously the raven-haired detective but the other unknown.

“That’s Detective Bollocks,” The commissioner’s tone was heavy, a broiling mix of weary emotion. “Today was his first time out in the field.”

On screen, Grayson lead the taller man towards the building, a camera above the door recording their entrance. The video switched perspective to the same one it’d been before, when the drug runners were killed. 

They watched as Bollocks blanched at the gruesome sight, gagging silently. Aqualad didn’t blame him, it was truly a horrible thing to witness. The death of so many, so young…

Detective Grayson was all business, kneeling next to the closest corpse and quickly assessing the situation.

“Bollocks and I determined the shot came from the loft,” The man himself supplied, face blank as he motioned to the two conversing on screen. 

It didn’t look like Bollocks was determining much of anything, his hands trembling at his sides and his mouth turned into a grimace. The two spoke for a minute, the junior detective seeming to point something out that made Grayson nod.

Unexpectedly, the more experienced of the two suddenly tensed, his entire body going rigid. It was unclear to the Atlantean what had garnered such a reaction, as there didn’t appear to be any immediate threats. 

Without warning, the detective suddenly flung himself at his partner as something rocketed through the air towards them. Both men hit the ground, Grayson supporting himself by the elbow above Bollocks.

Their view of the men’s faces was blocked. The black-haired detective slumped somewhat, pausing before he pushed himself up and took off towards the stairs. With nothing blocking it, the spectators could clearly make out the hole in Bollock’s head.

Though he knew it was coming, Aqualad still winced at the man’s abrupt death. It was likely quick and nearly painless, but it was till the loss of a life.

The young detective on screen bounded up the stairs, displaying surprising dexterity for someone of his minute height. As he came closer to the camera Kaldur thought he spotted a red blotch on his arm, slowly spreading across his white sleeve.

Stealing a glance at the man standing to their right, he saw the bandage from earlier still covering it. He’d almost forgotten the detective had been shot.

The cameras switched again, displaying a tall man dressed in a knock-off green military form, a crimson mask tied over his eyes. He was running, sprinting as fast as his uniformed legs would carry him down the length of the warehouse. 

The Grayson on screen assessed the situation with an alarming aptitude before flying after the villain. 

Aqualad couldn’t quite believe how fast the man began gaining, moving with unbelievable fluidity across the warehouse floor. 

The killer glanced over his shoulder, eyes widening as he caught sight of the detective tailing him. He paused long enough to knock a shelf over, bottles flying as it fell.

Kaldur briefly wondered how Grayson had gotten over it, seeing as they were watching events unfold that’d already taken place. He wasn’t left wondering long, however, as the detective giving chase took no time in leaping upward.

“No way,” Kid Flash breathed out. There were similar sounds of astonishment from the room’s other occupants. “No way can he make that.”

The Atlantean spotted a sly smirk stretch the commissioner’s dark skin, looking out of place on her usually stony features. 

Curious, he turned his attention back to the screen where the detective was now folding smoothly into a neat roll, popping back up to his feet as if nothing had happened. 

Evidently, he had made it.

Even Artemis looked grudgingly impressed. 

If Aqualad hadn’t seen it, he never would’ve believed it. Stealing another look at the man still standing to their left, arms crossed, the Atlantean shook his head.

However, the video wasn’t finished surprising them. 

As the runner got closer to the window, they watched as Grayson seemed to mentally calculate something. Pausing, his hands flashed towards his holster and pulled out his gun.

Two soundless shots spiraled forward, the killer crumbling to the dusty boards. The camera clearly made out the detective’s blank stare at the man writhing in front of him, an impassive mask covering his features. 

Then it passed, as if it’d never been there. He tossed the gun to the side with a look of sheer disgust, wiping his hand absently on his Kevlar vest before bending to cuff the criminal. 

Walking briskly forward, the detective paused the video and turned towards them, his arms crossed over his chest.

After what they’d just seen, Aqualad gave the man another once over. Clearly he needed to reassess the detective.

Now that he was looking for it, he could see the tautness of his frame that indicated strength, wariness. The stance he held, the way his clothes fell over his coiled body. This man was trained, and highly so.

The Atlantean’s view of Grayson shifted, not for the last time, as he mentally filed away this new discovery.

“As you can see from the video, the killer was Sniper, low tier man for hire.” The man turned the monitor off pensively, popping out the tapes and holding them out to Frank. “Take this to the evidence locker.”

“Righto, Dick.” The older man slid them into his pocket, popping up off his chair in an alarming display of nimbleness for his age. “You can count on me!”

The door slammed shut behind him, leaving the heroes and officers in silence. 

The detective was the first to break the speculative silence.

“Well, this has been a blast,” Grayson made towards the door, “But coffee calls—”

“Detective Grayson.” The commissioner sounded as if she’d been expecting such an impromptu escape, “You’re in charge of this case, yes?”

He looked behind him as if someone was standing there, ready to take it off his hands. When no one did, he nodded his head. “Yes?”

“Then I would greatly appreciate it if you would hear these heroes out.”

From the look on Grayson’s face you would’ve thought she told him to suck a lemon, then gargle with jellyfish venom after a nice swim with the sharks. “Yes, ma’am.”

When no one spoke up, Aqualad realized that he was supposed to be the one speaking. Clearing his throat, he shifted to the front of his chair and fixed the detective with his grey gaze, 

“The Justice League believes they’re may be a connection with the recent debut of a Bludhaven vigilante and the murders. While only an unbacked theory, it is highly suspicious that he appears and this happens the very next day.”

He heard McKibben grunt, “I don’t agree with vigilantes. They’re greedy, taking all the glory for themselves because they ‘work alone’. Makes everything harder for the rest of us.”

“But,” The commissioner’s voice was hard to get a read on. “We have absolutely no evidence that links them, other than the circumstantial. Sniper, for now, is our only culprit and he’s unconscious at Bludhaven Central.”

Aqualad resisted the urge to look at the raven-haired detective again, beginning to understand that his stares weren’t welcomed by the man. 

“It’s odd, though.” Kid Flash was tapping his fingers at lightning speed, “Why target them? Their low, close to the ground. Sniper’s a self-righteous hitman, which means this likely wasn’t personal. What kind of drugs were they dealing?”

Unfortunately, it was easy to forget that Wally actually had a brain underneath the flirtatious humour. The team leader mentally reminded himself to congratulate the ginger on his thought process in private.

Grayson nodded, eyes glazing over as he fixed his stare on the floor. If he’d been a Kent, Aqualad would’ve said he was trying to set the carpet alight with some heat vision.   
The silence stretched on until one of their member dared to break it,

“Is he…?” Artemis trailed off, obviously not sure how to put it.

“He’s just dramatic,” McKibben huffed harshly through his nose. “Give him a minute.”

Approximately forty seconds later, Grayson’s head was snapping upwards.

“They were dealing easy; weed, street crack, prescription drugs. Nothing high enough to warrant Sniper’s attention. That means they were being used for something, something. Something like—” It was as if a light bulb went off behind the detective’s eyes.

The man turned to the door and left, closing it behind him without a backward glance.

Commissioner Griffin and Detective McKibben were quick to follow, as if such strange actions were completely expected.

“I guess we go,” Aqualad pushed himself up from the chair. 

They stayed on the two police workers’ tails, getting led deeper and deeper into the facility. Only once they were underground, the air a little cooler and the lighting less natural, did they finally come to a stop. 

The door the commissioner pushed open squeaked on its hinges, slowly swinging to allow the heroes visibility inside.

There were eight bodies laid out on single gurneys, heads and bare chests exposed to the air with tarps around their waists.

Grayson was standing next to a very concerned looking woman in scrubs, her mousey grey hair pulled into a tight bun. 

“I sanction this, Mrs. Garcia. Please step aside.” Commissioner Griffins flashed her badge briefly, despite them being in her own facility. “Let him do his thing.”

The small wrinkled woman nodded her head, taking a single step back. “If you say so, commissioner.” She twitched nervously, rubber gloves sticking to each other in the silence. “If you say so.”

The raven-haired detective stared down at the dead man in front of him, his face carefully blank, “Did you check them for injections? Carrying?”

“Yes, Grayson.” Mrs. Garcia’s voice was flat, fixing the short man with a glare, “I know how to do my job.”

The man’s gaze snapped towards her, studying her as just had the corpse. “I am perfectly aware of your competency,” A surprisingly charming grin split his face, causing the woman to cease her nervous tapping. “Just double checking.”

“Right,” She muttered softly. “Sorry.” She stepped up beside him, gesturing to the crook of the dead man’s elbow. “I didn’t see any injection sights, but they do reek of cannabis. There’s no degradation of the teeth or nails either, which means they haven’t gotten into anything too hard.” 

Grayson gestured at the man’s lower half, “Carrying?”

“There was no sign of packaging in their anuses, if that’s what you’re asking.” The woman gave each body a calculated run down, grey eyes impassive. 

Aqualad heard M’gann choke behind him, “In their what?” 

Though the Martian had spent several years on Earth now, she was still taken aback by some of the shenanigan’s humanity seemed to get themselves into.

“Yes,” She turned, adjusting her scrubs carefully. “It is not uncommon for drug runners to push their wares up their butts to avoid detection. Though a disgusting process, it does merit some—”

“Thank you, Garcia, but that will do.” The commissioner cleared her throat, “Please make your point quickly, detective.”

“Cause of death is obvious, I assume.” Grayson muttered, more to himself than the room’s other occupants. 

“Bullets to the brain, lungs, or heart. Your hitman knows his stuff.” The woman shook her head, the first glimmer of sadness showing on her face, “They all died instantly, at least.”  
“It’s illogical. Who would pay a successful and recognized hitman to take out the Gang? They’re low level, barely even amassed their own territory yet. That eliminates petty turf wars. This is something bigger.”

He leaned closer to the body, pulling the white tarp back to the man’s navel, “Did you do any blood work?”

“No reason to,” The woman shook her head. “I’m a coroner, not a doctor. Not that these guys will be needing a doctor.”

“Hmm.” He nodded, surprising them all by sticking his fingers into the body’s bellybutton. 

The heroes all recoiled, even the stoic commissioner looking disturbed by her subordinate’s actions. “Grayson, gloves. Please.”

“A single injection sight in the navel,” The detective grinned, though the expression was devoid of any real humor, and turned back towards them. “Does that warrant bloodwork, Garcia?”

“Y-yes.” The small woman stumbled forward, aiming for one of the empty gurneys and pulling up a large needle. “This will take a few minutes, if you won’t mind waiting outside.”

“We’re good right here—”

The commissioner broke Grayson’s protests off by seizing his arm, dragging the man behind her and out the door. “We’ll wait, Mrs. Garcia.”

The heroes shuffled silently after them, M’gann looking especially queasy.

Aqualad, however, was still confused, his usually ordered thoughts a tangled web inside his head. 

None of this was making sense. Why would the League send them to investigate the slaughter of eight teens in a heavily crime ridden area? It _couldn’t_ make sense.

More importantly, what, if anything, did all this have to do with their newest vigilante?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> I'm so excited to write the next chapter >:) We're (finally) getting more of Grayson's POV!!
> 
> Mrs. Garcia is sort of an OC, but she won't be playing an active role in the story. Like at all. Also, Sniper is NOT an OC, he's a real DC anti-hero that I changed up a bit to work with this AU.
> 
> See ya'll next Sunday, stay safe <3
> 
> ~ASL


	4. A Scheme in the Works

Dick wished this particular case had been assigned to anyone but him.

As soon as those wannabe heroes had shown their faces, he’d gotten the urge to bang his head against the nearest wall. Repeatedly.

Sure, the case was beginning to prove more complex than he’d initially figured and no one else likely would’ve caught the navel injections, but he didn’t want to work with spandex-clad children.

Technically speaking, they were all older than him by a few years: Wally West; college goer. Artemis Crock; also in college. Kaldur’ahm; military Atlantean. M’gann M’orzz; Martian stowaway. Conner Kent; Cadmus super clone. 

Experience wise, however, they were worlds apart. Dick wasn’t bragging (maybe he was, just a little); it was just the way things were.

He knew each and every one of their secret identities, the ins and outs of their very lives. Batman made it his business to know everybody’s secrets, and, by default, so did his protégé.

Past protégé, that is. Dick didn’t work with the man anymore. Their partnership was on suspension. Indefinitely, if you asked him.

There were some things not even the Dynamic Duo could come back from.

Which brought them to now; awkwardly waiting outside the coroner’s door, garnering curious glances from any passing officers. 

Officer McKibben had to leave for patrol, taking his cloud of attitude with him, and the commissioner had long since returned to her office. Her last words to Grayson being a hissed, ‘ _behave_ ’.

The door opened, revealing Ms. Garcia’s greying hair. “Come in,” She muttered under her breath. “Quickly please, I’ve got other corpses to inspect.”

The heroes filed into the room behind him, all avoiding looking at the teenage bodies. 

Pushing their presence to the back of his mind, the raven-haired detective stepped forward, “What’d you find?”

“It’s the strangest thing,” The coroner’s face lit up passionately. “I’ve never seen anything like it before. There’s heavy amounts of something in their blood, but its unrecognizable.”

Dick frowned, gesturing at the microscope, “May I?” It wasn’t that he didn’t trust the woman’s opinion—she was a professional, after all—but he wanted to see things for himself.

He hadn’t done an in-depth background check on the coroner yet; for all he knew, she could be just another paid-out gangbanger. 

Unlikely, but paranoia had kept him alive thus far.

The woman waved her hand and he took that as an affirmation. 

“I have seen many strange, borderline impossible things on the job, but this takes the cake.” She straightened her white robe with trembling fingers, “This could be a new discovery. A big one.”

He narrowed his eyes at the sample, adjusting the scope so he could see it better at his height. He was no chemist, but during his time under Batman’s wing—cape? Whatever. Point was, he’d picked up a few tidbits.

Chemical compounds being one of them.

Ms. Garcia was correct; he couldn’t recognize any of the elements in whatever this was. No joker gas, no recognizable combinations. It contained something that didn’t exist.

And someone had wanted to keep it that way.

“I need to send this to someone higher up,” The woman’s eyes glimmered. “Think of the possibilities!”

That meant it was dangerous; anyone who knew about it; touched it; interacted with it, was likely in danger.

“No.” He pulled the sample out from its slot and pocketed it carefully, “You’re going to forget what you just saw, understood?”

She shook her head adamantly, “People need to know about this! It could be—”

“No.” Dick pierced her with his blue gaze, hoping it conveyed the solemnity of the situation at hand. “Whoever killed these people are ruthless, cunning. Big enough to hire a skilled mercenary and smart enough to stay out of the limelight. That means they’re dangerous.”

“I’m not scared of them,” Ms. Garcia’s voice was determined, but her trembling lips betrayed her words. “I’ll do what’s right.”

“Yes, you will.” His gaze softened and he placed a steady hand on her shoulder, recalling what he’d learned of her from his hurried background investigation into her personal life. “You have kids. A wife. Do you want them to end up hurt?”

She breathed out softly, casting a glance at the loitering heroes as if she didn’t want them seeing her like this. “Never.”

“Then you forget this, make sure nobody else finds out.” He gave her one more squeeze before turning to leave, the junior Justice League standing there in all their multi-coloured glory.

Without acknowledging them, he made to head upstairs, only for his exit to be blocked by an avid Atlantean.

Breathing in harshly through his nose and resisting the urge to drop kick the man, he fixed the trademark Grayson smile on his face instead, “Yes?”

Aqualad’s dark brows cinched low over his eyes, “We cannot allow you to leave.”

Dick felt his already faux grin become even more strained under the Atlantean’s accusatory stare, “And why is that?”

“You’re trying to escape with possibly game changing evidence,” Kid Flash—who really should’ve changed his name, seeing as he was no longer a kid—stepped up beside his leader. “And acting mega-suspicious about it.”

“Look,” The detective had to resist the urge to pinch the bridge of his nose. “It’s just a theory, but whoever gave this,” He waved the sample in front of their faces, “to those kids, wants all trace of it gone. Hence the shooting.”

Aqualad looked unimpressed, but allowed him to continue speaking.

“Which means that they’ll come after whoever knows. I don’t want Ms. Garcia becoming a target because she went and spewed to the media in a fit of scientific excitement.”

“I hate to admit it,” The green archer spoke up from the back. “But he has a point.”

“He would have an excellent point, if he wasn’t a prime suspect.” Conner, or Superboy was the rest of the world knew him, sent an impassioned stare in Dick’s direction. 

The red-headed Martian jumped right onto the super’s crazy train, defending his sentiment with surprising fervor. The detective glanced between her and the Kryptonian clone, reading their body language; the way they subconsciously leaned towards one another…

Oh?

 _Oh_.

They were a ‘thing’. Interesting.

“—that makes sense!” Miss Martian nodded, shooting Dick an apologetic look. “Sorry.”

And this, this right here, was why Dick worked alone. Unnecessary thoughts and loyalties made things unnecessarily complicated.

His grin had probably reached maniacal proportions, but he fixed each member of the team with a stare anyway, “Look, Bludhaven does have a lot of corrupted cops, and you really shouldn’t trust anyone in this city, but I can assure you I’m one of the less nefarious ones.”

“That’s exactly what a corrupted cop would say.” Kid Flash—that was too weird, he was calling the hero KF from now on—muttered under his breath.

“Or an innocent one,” Dick shot back.

The ginger grinned. “Touché.” 

“Alright,” Aqualad held up a hand to silence his team. 

The detective begrudgingly admitted the guy was a good leader; not perfect, but certainly not bad. The team knew when the Atlantean meant business. 

Dick would never admit it to anyone, least of all himself, but he’d always wanted to be a leader. Being Batman’s partner had had its benefits and he honestly wouldn’t’ve changed a thing, but there were some days…some times when he just wondered….

“—We’ll escort you to the commissioner’s office, then.”

The ebony was jolted out of his speculations. “What?”

Aqualad studied him again, those passive eyes seeming to take in every detail. “I said we’ll escort you to the commissioner’s office.”

Hmm. That was bad. Dick had actually been intending on taking the sample back to his apartment. It was no Batcave, but at least no one else would be endangered by it.

“That’s not necessary,” He stated, fear spiking at the thought of such a sought-after product being in the commissioner’s possession.

If people were willing to kill for the foreign substance, the last thing he wanted was for it to be anywhere near Griffin. Or anyone in the station, for that matter.

Except maybe McKibben, that guy was a pain.

“Nope,” Artemis placed a hand on her hip and fixed him with what was likely meant as an intimidating glare.

It probably would’ve been, too, for someone who hadn’t stared down Gotham’s worst.

“Either you give it to us now or we watch you give it to the commissioner later.” She continued, lips drooping into a frown.

“I do not want to fight you, detective, but we will do what is necessary.” Aqualad took a step towards him, “Will you accept our offer?”

Dick felt his smile fall off his face as he scrutinized the man. Technically, if he really wanted to, he could be out of here in less than six seconds.

Take out the Atlantean, go for KF’s knees. Drop a smoke bomb and disappear in the following chaos. Foolproof.

But he was Grayson right now, not Robin. Not Nightwing.

Sighing, he motioned for them to follow. “Fine.”

As he headed towards the precinct elevator, trying to block out the clack of the heroes’ heavy boots behind him, Dick began to plan.

Leaving it with Commissioner Griffin was too risky; he couldn’t lose the only person he trusted in this hellscape of a city.

So, he’d just have to ‘borrow’ the sample back.

*

His hero entourage garnered a few curious glances from fellow cops, each of them pausing in their work to stare as the strange group marched past.

Dick didn’t know how the junior Justice League dealt with the near-constant publicity, all the knowing looks and cameras. Sure, he’d been popular as Robin, but he’d also avoided the limelight.

No one, except for B himself, knew anything revealing about his vigilante persona. And Dick intended to keep it that way.

He rapped sharply on the commissioner’s door, hoping she wasn’t back in her office yet. Maybe, just maybe—

The door opened, revealing a frowning Sheila Griffins. “Detective Grayson. Back so soon.”

Dick sent her his signatory celebrity smile. It was easy, almost as easy as putting on his Nightwing mask. “I have an update.”

“Already.” It wasn’t a question, but he nodded anyway. “Alright, come in.”

He slipped through the door, ignoring the heroes’ presence at his heels.

Unconsciously, he straightened his back and adopted a neutral tone.

This, at least, was familiar territory. It felt like he was thirteen again, briefing Bruce in the Cave after they got split on a mission. 

“Mrs. Garcia found an unknown compound in the deceased’s’ blood. This being the only un-factorable in the equation, I surmised that the compound is the reason why they’re dead. It’s not clear whether they were willing test subjects, or if this is a new drug hitting the streets. What we do know is that whoever released this is willing to kill for it, and has enough resources backing them to hire Sniper.”

“Thank you, detective.” She turned to the heroes, expression calculating, “Do you have anything to add?”

Aqualad cleared his throat, his usual stoic demeanour giving way to something verging on sheepish. “Not at this time, no.”

Dick had to withhold a smile.

It’s not that the heroes were useless, it was more just that…they were useless.

The commissioner inspected the vial carefully, pinching it between her fingers and frowning at it. “I’ll hold onto this. Does anyone else know of its existence?”

Dick shook his head, indicating the heroes behind him and then himself. “Only us and the coroner.” He twitched, twisting his fingers together as he fought for the right words.

Griffin gave him one of her rare, practically nonexistent smiles. “Just spit it out before you choke, detective.”

“Could you, possibly,” Dick did not like asking her for things; he didn’t like asking anyone for anything, really. 

He hated that second of conflict, when hesitant reluctance masked their features. Their sense of self preservation and overall unwillingness going toe-to-toe.

They always said yes, in the end. You couldn’t just say ‘no’ to a Wayne or his ward.

He hated it.

“Grayson,” She shot him a look, sculpted brows arching. “We’ve talked about this.”

He chewed on his cheek, remembering the conversation the woman was referring to, when they’d been forced to address his reluctance for asking favours when he’d winded up in the hospital. Because calling for back up would’ve ‘inconvenienced’ her and the precinct.

It’d only been a few broken bones, he honestly didn’t understand the big whoop.

“Could you spare some people for a temporary stakeout at Garcia’s? She doesn’t even have to know, but…” He trailed off, waving absently. “She could be a target.”

The smile was still in place, though the commissioner’s more seriousness countenance quickly swallowed it whole. “Of course, detective. It’s a good idea.”

Dick quickly pulled his police persona back in place, offering a single nod in answer. “If that’ll be all, ma’am.”

“That’s all, Grayson. You’re dismissed. I’d like to speak to the heroes,” She gestured for them to make themselves comfortable. “If they have time.”

“This case is our sole priority at the moment,” The Atlantean offered her a tight lip smile. 

Dick took that as his cue to leave, slipping out the door and closing it softly behind him.

His mind was already calculating how to get the vial back as soon as possible, strategies and scenarios flurrying desperately for attention. 

If he was going to do this, it had to be tonight.

The detective’s first genuine smile of the day pulled at the corners of his mouth, a plan starting to take root.

It looked like ‘Nightwing’ was going to make another appearance after all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! Hope y'all are having a fantastic Sunday :3
> 
> Thanks so much for reading; reader feedback/participation is just the best <333
> 
> If you have any questions about this AU, or just want to tell me your fav anteater (idk), I'll get back to you as soon as I can!!
> 
> ~ASL


	5. A Botched Thievery

Dick had gotten back to his apartment far later than he’d anticipated.

After finally finishing what felt like an endless series of incident reports, filing them all away, and slipping out of the department, it was well past his usual dinner time. 

Which, admittedly, was already pretty late to begin with. 

His apartment complex was in the rougher end of the city, wedged in between an often-vacant strip mall and a questionably stable block of shabby condos. 

It wasn’t that Dick didn’t have money—even though Bruce had cut him off—his job paid fairly well. Very well, especially considering he’d only been on the force about a year.

It was more that if anything were to happen, it would happen on this end of town. Meaning he would already be within fairly close proximity. 

That, and here was no better way to gather intel than to observe the lower end. To be aware of the comings and goings, the ‘word on the street’, so to speak.

He tromped up the stairs, ignoring the leaves that’d blustered in through one of the taped off windows. 

His room was on the fourth floor, meaning he was a nearly winded by the time he reached it. 

There was an elevator, but the young detective had never been courageous enough to attempt it. Death-by-elevator was rather low on his ‘Ways to Go Out’ list. Tenth, actually, right behind radioactive jellyfish.

But Dick digressed.

His door, the wood panelling swollen with moisture, had a habit of sticking when he went to open it. With a grunt, he rammed his entire body weight into it and felt it shudder.

It was good practice for forced police entry, he supposed. He resisted the urge to whisper a soft, “BPD, coming in” under his breath as the door shrieked open to reveal a dingy apartment room.

There was a squat entryway with a bathroom on the immediate right, which didn’t have a door handle, for reasons unknown to him. From there the room opened up into a sort of living space, equipped with relatively intact furniture and a mounted TV, all of which was overlooked by an open concept kitchen.

The bedroom was off down another hall, secluded from the rest of the apartment and barely large enough for a bed and safe, the latter of which was technically unnecessary as he didn’t have an intrusive roommate. 

Thankfully. Dick couldn’t even imagine what they would say to the birdarang holes in the wall, or the swathe of dark spandex airing over a spare kitchen chair.

Nothing good, that’s for sure.

His plan for the night was simple; patrol for awhile, then break into his boss’s office and steal key evidence to his own case. .

Usually, breaking and entering would take a little more recon, surveillance, and a teensy bit more scheming. However, since he knew all the ins and outs of the BPD, such actions would be mostly unnecessary.

‘Sides, he'd worked with Batman. Compared to some of his previous missions, this should be a piece of cake.  


*  


Patrol that night was surprisingly anticlimactic, most criminals apparently having taken the night off. The only trouble he encountered was a mugging, attempted stabbing, and petty arson.

Not bad, for a night in Bludhaven. 

He’d just used a thug’s own phone to call the police on them, familiar blue and red sirens surging around the corner, when he checked his holo-display’s time stamp for what felt like the thousandth time.

12:47. Now or never.

His suit slid flawlessly to accommodate his every move, the tensile fabric shifting with every swing of the grappling gun as he sailed above darkened buildings.

It was the same material as his Robin getup, but significantly more…stealthy. Where his previous uniform had been a lovable hodgepodge of reds, yellows, and greens, his Nightwing suit was matte black with grey detail.

The grimmer colours matched the more serious vibe he was trying to convey; a solo vigilante. A far cry from the League’s poster reds, spangled blues, and eye-scorching yellows.

He paused briefly on the roof of the BPD’s neighbouring building, running a gloved hand over the coloured insignia on his chest. It was as familiar to him as his old Robin symbol, carrying more meaning to him than Bruce—or anyone living—could ever fully comprehend. 

Sighing, he pushed the invasive thoughts back and focused on the towering building in front of him. 

Breaking a window would probably be the wisest choice, as it would condemn a clumsy and amateur thief. Not a hardened vigilante. 

Dick’s goal was to set this up so as to have the blame pinned on a petty thief; someone without a plan or outside resource.

Now that he’d secured a point of entry, he carried his imaginary break in further. He’d have to pretend to break into something, something a regular low tier criminal would go for.  


Something that would betray desperado, as well as give them another lead…

The perfect idea struck him; the evidence lock-up. If he tailored it to look like he’d hit there instead of the commissioner’s office, any suspicion would fall on those criminals’ whose cases were tied up with evidence. 

A grin pulled at the corner of his lips and he felt a thrill of adrenaline. 

If Dick hadn’t gone down the vigilante path, he likely would’ve been a master criminal.

Running a quick hand over his mask, ensuring that it still rested over his eyes, he edged to the back of the roof he was currently on for a running start, hurtling forward and upwards.

The gap between the building wasn’t overly wide, but it still gave him that familiar rush as he flew through empty air, wind whistling past his ears and tearing at his unkempt hair.

He always kept it gelled back at work, especially when he was enacting his celebrity persona. On his more nightly escapades, however, he let it take its natural shape.

His landing was flawlessly executed, if he did so say so himself. Rolling into a brief somersault, he pushed himself up and raised his hands above his head, flaunting them like a gymnast who’d just finished their routine.

Technically there was no one around to see it, but he couldn’t help the showboating. He was a performer without an audience; so sue him.

Humming under his breath, he traipsed over to the lip of the roof and hung his leg over the edge, smashing his reinforced heel into an upper window.

The precinct didn’t have a modern alarm, just security cameras in case of incident. In their original design, they’d probably banked on the fact that no one in their right mind would try to break into the police department. 

Jokes on them.

With a grunt, he grabbed the roof ledge and lowered himself into the broken window with just his arms, feeling them pull against the fabric of his costume. 

Straining only slightly, the vigilante carefully maneuvered himself in between the jagged edges of glass. Perfect.

Allowing himself a small sense of pride that he wasn’t a grease spot on the pavement below, he dusted his hands and took stock of his surroundings.

Dick had chosen this particular window because it had easy access and, more importantly, should fall into one of the cameras’ many blind spots.

He’d taken stock of them when he’d first checked out the security display room, noting each crack and crevice that was out of sight.

A smile twisted his lips as he slunk down the hall, slipping from shadow to shadow on his way to the target. 

Even without the shock absorbing technology of his boots—similar to that of Olympic track stars—Dick had always been stealthy. His natural awareness combined with the diminutive stature made for absolute quiet.

Not even the BPD’s rats would’ve heard him, had there been any to begin with.

He passed his own cubby and offered it a two fingered salute, thoroughly enjoying the irony of breaking into his own workplace. 

Maybe a little too much. Should he be concerned?

The evidence locker was downstairs and should be fairly easy to get too, especially considering there were significantly less security cameras on the lower levels.

With this in mind, Dick continued with his soft maneuvering, humming that same song under his breath. He wasn’t entirely sure where he’d heard it, perhaps on the radio during a patrol?

Upon reaching the desired door, he bent low and removed his lockpicks from their place on his personage, fitting one in between his teeth as he eyed the lock. 

It was pretty heavy duty; might take him all of four minutes.

Dick was wrong. Three was apparently all it took, a faint click sounding in the stilled silence. 

He toed the door open and peeked inside, carefully examining each shadow for signs of intruders. Besides himself, that is.

Deeming it all clear, he slid inside and over to the rack where they stored significantly less crucial pieces. 

Rubbing at the non-existent stubble on his chin, he carefully and soundlessly removed a box and rifled through it with intentional clumsiness.

He wasn’t actually planning on taking anything, he didn’t want to unintentionally interfere with any of his partner’s cases, but he did want the place to look searched.

Searched by a hapless idiot, but searched all the same. 

After repeating the process with three more evidence bins, he figured that would be enough and stood up. 

Turning, he gave his work another once over. The place looked properly ransacked; odd bits of official papers and used items littering the floor.

Squashing his smile—vandalizing police property really shouldn’t feel this good—he left the evidence lockup with the door wide. Hopefully that would be enough to draw the morning shift’s attention.

It felt wrong to leave such a mess behind him, as he was generally succinct on his own missions, but it had to be done. He was trying to make this look like the work of an amateur, after all.

With that out of the way, his real mission could begin. 

Returning back to the aboveground floors, he padded to the commissioner’s office on silent feet. 

Here, he met his first hiccup. It wasn’t exactly unexpected, as Dick knew he’d have to face it sooner or later, but it was a dilemma all the same.

Being the commissioner and holding one of the most important roles within the precinct, Griffin’s office was substantially more secure than the rest of the building.

This meaning that there was a camera trained straight at the door. 

Obviously he couldn’t be caught on it, or his whole trip down to the evidence lockup would prove pointless, so he’d just have to override it singularly.

He pinpointed the corner it hung in, its reflecting lens aimed straight at his target. He kept in its blind spots and keyed up his holo gauntlet.

The precinct’s security was a joke. It was actually kind of sad that it took less than sixty seconds to enter, and substantially less to put the single camera’s feed on a loop.

Maybe he should volunteer his own services tomorrow, after he’d broken in. The lack of any form of security was sort of concerning.

With that out of the way, he pulled out his lockpicks again.

Griffin’s door had three different locks, which meant his time would be tripled. Grunting as he squatted in front of the door, he quickly got too work.

 _Click_ , _click_ , and _click_ : there was not a more satisfying sound in all the world. Except perhaps that of a microwave timer hitting zero.

Placing the thin metal pick firmly between his teeth, for he’d likely be needing its services again soon, he quickly pushed the door open and stepped in.

A swift survey of the room proved it to be empty as he slunk inside, already aware that the space didn’t contain a camera. A soft sound echoed from his right, like a strange fluctuation in the stillness.

A gasp.

Ears perked, he snapped his head around, narrowing his eyes at the seemingly empty air to his left.

Then he frowned, realizing he was likely just being paranoid again. Maybe B’s constant vigilance was rubbing off on him. He wasn’t entirely sure he appreciated it. 

Turning back to the office at large, he didn’t bother checking the darkened corners for cameras.

Far too many secret and or classified things went down in this room for it to be recorded. That, and Dick was betting the commissioner suspected the security exec of being dirty.

He didn’t blame her; half the cops in the precinct were taking bribes or worse. Much worse.

Dick felt the smallest pinprick of guilt for rifling through his boss’ personal artefacts, but it couldn’t be helped. If he had to choose between her life or her continued privacy, he’d choose her life every time. No questions asked.

Removing the lock pick from between his teeth, he made short work of the desk drawers. Each proving void of the object for which he searched.

He was beginning to entertain the sobering thought that she may have taken it home with her, when the second last drawer proved his doubts to be ungrounded.

Dick couldn’t quite stop the relieved breath that whooshed out of his lungs as he fingered the vial, carefully making sure it wasn’t a decoy before slipping into the secure confines of his belt.

The vigilante had just finished methodically re-locking each drawer when he felt it, the all too familiar prickle of a presence trying to worm its way into his mind. 

Telepath. He _hated_ telepaths.

Slamming backwards and knocking the commissioner’s chair over in the process, he quickly threw down every mental wall and defense he knew of, shutting out the presence with a searing shove.

Bruce had given him extensive mental training in his early years as Robin, to guard both their identities from potential threats such as Martian Manhunter or Psimon. 

His gloved fingers whipped out his escrima sticks before he even had time to think, brandishing them in a defensive position as he scanned quickly for any sign of the intruder.

Dick had his suspicions, but he still felt a familiar weight settle in his stomach when the red-headed Martian popped into view, eyes widened at him in unbridled surprise.

The wall at his back felt even firmer as he met her gaze. If she was here, then the rest of the junior Justice League wasn’t far off.

In fact, they were likely already en-route to their teammate’s position. 

Pushing past the mounting wave of panic consuming his every conscious thought, he tried to look surprised at her presence here. 

“Well, if it isn’t Miss Martian. What brings you to these here parts, Greenie?” Dick fixed a smile on his face, leaning casually on the very same chair he’d practically just knocked over. 

Her eyes glowed as she hovered off the ground, fists clenching in the air at her side, “You have something that doesn’t belong to you. And I don’t like thieves.”

He picked up the pound of footsteps in the hallway outside and gathered that the rest of the team would be arriving shortly.

 _Shoot_. 

For the first time in two years, Dick found himself wishing for backup. For some kind of presence behind him.

He tried to shake the thought away, ignoring the reeling thoughts clamouring for attention in the epicentre of his mind. _Bruce was right. He really was pathetic._

Fixing Nightiwing’s smile in place, he shrugged casually, hoping she couldn’t see the faint trembling of his fingers,

“What can I say? I’m a bit of a klepto, really.”

Then he attacked.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter six, folks! What'd you think??
> 
> So, one thing I forgot to mention about this AU is that Batman will be, for lack of a better word, a total d**k. I usually like to keep Bruce in character, but in this fic I'll be throwing that out the window e_e
> 
> I'll make sure to mention at the beginning of a chapter if it'll contain any possible triggers, too :) I don't want you lovelies getting hurt by my writing <33
> 
> Thanks for reading! Stay safe!!
> 
> ~ASL


	6. A New Perspective

That’s it. He was done. Wally was going to convert to villainy from this day forward; starting with the bloody murder of Artemis Crock.

She simply would not stop judging his life choices.

“If I want to eat sixteen _Wagonwheels_ , what’s it to you? Can’t I just live my life?” The ginger opened another one, chocolate shedding out of the plastic wrapping as he tore at it with gloved fingers.

The blonde sitting next to him in the cramped monitor room looked horrified. “That is disgusting.”

He grinned, taking an absurdly large bite simply because he knew it annoyed her, “I have a calorie count to maintain, you know?”

Wally was fairly certain that, at this point, they both knew she wasn’t really grossed out by his diet. It was merely a charade, the same weird dynamic they’d been trapped in since their first meeting.

They both liked each other. At least, he was fairly certain she liked him, and he definitely liked her. Yet they had always been lacking some driving force, the catalyst that would kickstart their relationship.

The situation was as infuriating as it was obvious; Wally was pretty sure Kaldur had long since been aware of it. Though he wasn’t overly certain about M’gann and Conner.

Both aliens could be extremely…unobservant, at times.

Speaking of, their Atlantean leader turned to stare at them over the back his wheeled chair. “You do realize we are on a highly imperative stakeout in which the success of our case currently rides?”

Wally swallowed thickly under Aqualad’s verging on desperate gaze, shooting an accusing glare at Artemis, “She started it.”

Kaldur sighed, facing the monitors again, “Just please keep a look out.”

Earlier that day, after Detective Moody had been dismissed by the commissioner, the woman had politely asked them to stakeout the precinct while everyone else was at home. Sleeping. In a warm bed. 

Did he mention he didn’t want to be here? ‘Cause he didn’t want to be here.

Sure, Wally understood the commissioner’s reasoning. 

She’d told them that, if Detective Sourpuss was right, whoever was trying to keep the compound hidden might make a move tonight to dispose of the bodies for good.

Young Justice had been delegated the task, as she didn’t trust more than half of her officers. It reminded the speedster of their early days, when there’d been a mole in their midst.

He’d hated the mistrust and deceit that such a discovery had caused; the way it had torn their team apart. The reveal that it had been Roy, the first sidekick, nearly crushed them beyond repair. 

So now here they were: an archer, Kryptonian clone, speedster, and fish-boy, sitting in a police station. It sounded like the beginning of a bad joke. 

Or a really cool concept for a show. Wally would watch the hell out of that, not going to lie.

They were originally supposed to be watching the security monitors spread in front of them, each flickering with static every now and then, but Wally’s attention had long since wandered.

It wasn’t that he was trying to be a bad hero. Au contraire, he truly had attempted attentiveness. The issue had more to do with the fact that his body was operating in an entirely different time frame then the rest of the team.

While they’d been sitting here since the precinct closed—a few hours, at best—because of his superspeed, it felt like Wally had been crouched for double that.

He could practically feel the lightning arcing through his veins, begging to be released in one powerful burst of motion. 

The speedster sighed, fingers twitching rapidly as he watched another screen flicker with static. And then another. 

He repressed a yawn, clamping a hand over his mouth. This was truly prime entertainment. Someone ought to call the _HBO_.

“What was that?” Artemis leaned closer to one of the cameras, eyes narrowing at it.

Wally would deny it even after death, but he loved Artemis’ eyes. Actually, he loved her whole face. It was stunning. 

The way her blonde waves hung down her back, held aloft by a high ponytail gave him butterflies. Everything about her gave him a conflicting mess of fluttering hormones and soppy satisfaction. 

It was kind of pathetic, actually.

Pulling his mind out of whatever gutter it’d just rolled into, he turned his attention back to the mission at hand. “What room is that?”

Kaldur shot him an appreciative glance, as if glad the ginger was finally showing some interest in the mission, “It shows the hallway to the evidence lockup. What’d you see, Artemis?”

The archer leaned back, resting her bow across her legs with an air of casual practice. “I’m not sure, it might’ve just been a shadow.”

“We should check in with M’gann,” Conner piped up from the back by the door. He was supposed to be keeping one of his super-ears tuned for any unusual sounds, but Wally suspected he’d been sleeping.

“Good idea, Superboy.” Kaldur spoke into their mental link, rightly assuming M’gann had left it open in her absence.

The Martian was invisibly staking out the commissioner’s office, seeing as it was the only room without a camera. It was extremely unlikely that anyone would try and break in, but they wanted to be prepared for every contingency.

 _“M’gann?”_ Kaldur inquired, his mental voice intoning it as a question.

Wally, despite having used this mode of communication for years now, still found it just a teensy bit strange. He suspected that was his humanness piping up. 

That is, human as he could be having literally broken the sound barrier. On multiple occasions.

 _“Hi, guys!”_ The Martian’s cheery voice answered back. The speedster absently wondered how she kept so pippy. _“What’s up?”_

 _“Nothing much, sweet-cheeks,”_ Wally answered. He was long, _long_ over his crush on her, but the term had sort of become one of platonic meaning to the two. _“Artemis thought she saw a shadow.”_

“Oh shut up, Kid Klutz. At least I was looking at the screen.” Artemis shot him a playful glare over her shoulder.

At least, he hoped it was playful. He didn’t want to get shot by another arrow; not so soon after the last time.

 _“Conner wanted to check in with you,”_ Kaldur re-railed the conversation.

Wally could actually feel the Martian’s pleased mental purr, _“That’s sweet, but I’m alright.”_

Conner mumbled something aloud, sinking even further into his chair. 

_“Alright,"_ Artemis spoke for the embarrassed Kryptonian. _“Tell us if anything happens.”_

_“Will do!”_

Then they returned to their monotonous stakeout. 

It’d been so long that Wally was seriously considering getting up and scrounging the room for some toothpicks. You know, to prop his eyelids open.

The security cams’ timestamps displayed that less than an hour had gone by, but the ginger was certain they were deceiving him. Maybe this was technology’s first step towards world dominance. 

Today, the time. Tomorrow, the world. If the evil devices ever needed a slogan, Wally could hook them up.

Literally hook them up, because they had cords and—that’s it. This stakeout was making him crazy.

The speedster smacked himself in the face, ignoring the confused look their resident archer sent him.

He was on the verge of sleep when M’gann’s voice sounded over the link, edged with that tone it always took on when she was spooked about something,  


_“Guys, someone’s picking the lock. I can hear them.”_

Artemis’ reaction was instantaneous. She moved so close to one of the monitors that her face was practically pressed up against it, then she was cursing savagely.

“It’s a loop! Someone put camera seventeen on loop.” She snatched up her bow, heading towards the door, “We’ve got to move, now. Whoever it is, they’re already inside.”

Kaldur spoke quickly, laying a hand gently on Artemis’ shoulder to stop her exit, _“M’gann, do you need immediate assistance? What is your verdict?”_

The Martian pause for a moment before answering, her voice measured. _“Stay in position for now. I don’t want to spook them before we see what they’re after.”_

The Atlantean shot the antsy archer a quelling look, “You heard her, Artemis. We maintain position for now.”

The blonde didn’t look happy about it, but she sank back into her chair all the same. 

Aqualad really had earned their collective respect over the years. No matter how chummy they got with him, at the end of the day they still obeyed. 

Most of the time.

Fortunately, this was one of those times. The monitor room was silent except for the barest hum of the computers, accented by the occasional heavy breath.

Conner’s hand was clenching the arm of his chair so hard that Wally was sure it would crack, but the large man stayed in position. The raven-haired clone knew what his girlfriend was capable of.

As did Wally, but he still felt a pang of mounting concern for his Martian teammate with every passing minute.

Just when he was about to suggest they storm downstairs, M’gann gave a mental gasp.

It was somewhat disturbing to hear the familiar sound in his head, but what followed was even more so. _“It’s them! It’s the vigilante, they’re here!”_

Whatever Wally had been anticipating seemed inconsequential compared to that, his heart leaping up into his throat. 

The rest of the team had similar reactions, all of them jumping to their feet. 

Kaldur was the first to find his mental voice again, _“We will converge on your position. Try and get into his head.”_

Her reply was short and strained, lacking the Martian’s usual charisma, _“Got it.”_

“Now can we get down there?” Wally practically pleaded, the feeling of the speed force biting at his heels as familiar as it was comforting. 

Aqualad spared the ginger one of his rare and stoic smiles. “Yes.”

And then they were off, hurtling through the dark station towards their teammate.

Had Wally not been surrounded by his team, the building might’ve been a little creepy. Maybe even mildly terrifying. But now, with three trained heroes beside him, he felt ready for anything. 

Which is why he was surprised to be so blatantly un-ready for the sight that greeted him upon their arrival.

The speedster had just skidded to a stop outside of the commissioner’s door—having slowed down significantly to keep pace with his teammates—and rammed his shoulder into the wood. 

The action proved unnecessary, however, when he realized that the door was already unlocked. Just closed.

Flushing faintly, he turned the handle and pushed, hurrying into the room with the others hot on his heels.

M’gann stood with her back to them, her stealth suit helping her blend into the room’s shadows. She hovered an inch off the floor, the green glow of her eyes indicating that she was doing some freaky Martian stuff.

Wally followed her glare, trying to pinpoint who exactly she was focusing it on. 

Had he not known to look in that specific corner, Wally never would’ve spotted the intruder. 

They blended into the black like they were an extension of it, the only thing visible of their costume being the barest trace of its outline and a foreign, bird-like symbol spanning the chest.

The speedster had to fight a smile when he saw that the figure was decidedly male, recalling he and Artemis’ argument in the bioship early and shooting her a snide look.

She rolled her eyes in response but kept them focused on the vigilante, bow nocked and at the ready.

M’gann’s voice spoke into their link, sounding strangely put-out, _“I can’t read his mind, somehow he’s bloc—"_

The Martian was abruptly cut off as the man darted into action, snapping out of his relaxed side-lean to hurl himself across the floor towards her.

She didn’t have enough time to react before they crashed into the ground, the air whooshing out of M’gann as the two collided.

Without missing a beat, the vigilante had something pressed up against the green skin of her throat, the other hand jerking her head back by the hair.

Conner made an inhuman noise, somewhere between an enraged growl and terrified yell. He was about to charge when the man pressed the blade down harder, nearly enough to draw blood.

“Stay where you are.” His voice wasn’t nearly as deep as Wally had been expecting, the sound of it almost putting the speedster at ease. It was light, almost genial. Like they were simply old friends meeting in the park.

“Let her go.” Conner’s tone was deadly, the sound nearly stopping Wally’s pounding heart in its tracks. “I swear I’ll—”

“Superboy,” Kaldur could’ve chipped diamonds with the look on his face. It was stony, obviously angry, but hidden beneath a mask of faux calm. 

Wally, for the briefest of seconds, was thankful the Atlantean was on their side. The man would make a formidable villain.

Speaking of villains, the vigilante remained unmoving, the white lenses of his mask narrowing at each of them in turn. “So, the junior Justice League. To what do I owe the pleasure?”

“What do you want?” Artemis barked, ignoring his banter. 

“With your Martian?” He flicked a gaze at the woman in his captivity. It might have just been the darkness playing tricks on him, but Wally could’ve sworn he saw the man’s gloved grip on her hair loosen so her neck wasn't bent so far back. “Nothing,” The vigilante grimaced slightly, nose wrinkling beneath the black edge of his mask. “Please stop trying to read my mind. It won’t work, and it’s only giving me a headache.”

Miss Martian let out a hiss of annoyance, shooting her team an apologetic look.

Wally opted for a smile, hoping it conveyed reassurance and not a death wish. “Look man, how about we just talk about this. You know? Have a little friendly chat?”

“If you’re getting ready to superspeed me, don’t.” The geniality was gone, the man’s voice suddenly nothing but taut darkness. “I would nick her artery before you took a step.”  


Wally cursed quietly, for that had been his plan exactly. 

Conner took a step forward, wincing at the way the vigilante’s grip tightened on the blade at the motion, “Just let her go.”

“Look, I don’t want to hurt her any more than you don’t want me to want to hurt her,” The man frowned, letting go of M’gann’s hair completely to run a hand down his face. “And That didn’t make any sense.”

The speedster was slightly taken aback. This was...not what he’d been expecting from a supposedly murderous vigilante, to say the least. “So there’s no chance of you just…letting her go?” Wally inquired hopefully, speaking into the link as he did. _“Anybody got any ideas?”_

“We could, perhaps, let you escape without a fight? But only if you promise our teammate’s safety.” Kaldur shot Wally the briefest of glances, _“We can’t let him go. I do not enjoy this double deceit, but we promised the League we’d bring him in.”_

 _“We promised the League we would speak with him,”_ M’gann’s mental voice sounded unruffled despite the position she was in. _“There is no proof he even is who we think he is.”_

Wally decided to clear that up as soon as possible, “Are you Bludhaven’s newest vigilante?”

The man’s gaze swivelled towards the speedster, clearly seizing him up behind the mask. Evidently he didn’t like what he saw. “What’s it to you, Flash Child?”

“Aha,” The ginger pantomimed laughter, dabbing underneath his cowl’s goggles as if wiping away tears. “This guy’s a comedian.”

The vigilante frowned, as if that hadn't been the response he was looking for. He turned to Artemis instead, “And why're you here?” He cocked his head at her, ruffled black hair flopping to the side. “Daddy not pay a high enough salary?” 

Oh. That wasn’t going to go over well at all. Wally shot Artemis a look, but the blonde was already in motion, flying across the room towards her offender,

“Don’t you _dare_ talk to me like that, you—"

The vigilante gave a chilling smile as Artemis moved, his lithe body snapping into motion so quick Wally was tempted to ask if the man was his long-lost speedster brother.

Then the room exploded.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry for the cliffhanger (but not actually >:D)!! Hope you enjoyed the chapter despite the rocky ending :/
> 
> As always, thanks so much for reading/dropping a comment!! I honestly never would've imagined so many people would read this, and it's super encouraging to see <33
> 
> Have a great week!
> 
> ~ASL


	7. A Rooftop Conversation

The speedster remembered reaching for Artemis’ quiver, hoping he could stop her before she reached her target, then a blur of blue-black fabric and suddenly—smoke.

After, the resulting chaos was hard to explain. 

There was smoke everywhere. It invaded Wally’s nose and mouth until he was choking, coughing as he abruptly found himself unable to breathe.

He lost sight of his teammates as gray filled his vision, coating the air with an acrid scent. 

Fortunately his eyes were protected by his suit’s goggles, so at least they weren’t becoming irritated by the writhing smog. His throat, on the other hand, was trying to crawl into his stomach.

Wally felt like he was on the verge of passing out when he remembered the oldest Flash trick in the book: cyclone.

Stumbling blindly to his feet, he waved his arms around his head, channeling all his pent-up energy and annoyance into the rapid motion. Lightning wreathed his limbs as they picked up speed, the smoke finally beginning to clear.

He sucked in a breath of semi-clear air, reeling as it flooded his brain. 

“Arty?” He gasped out soon as he was able, glancing around for her green suit in the following haze.

She lay on her side; bow askance, eyes unfocused. 

“Artemis!” He flashed to her side, bending low and quickly picking her up off the ground, pressing his ear above her heart.

It was beating a little erratically, but that wasn’t abnormal after a smoke-bomb attack.

She laboriously pulled in a breath, turning her head up to him with a dazed look, “You…” Her chest rattled under him and her hands frantically felt every inch of his face, searching it for any sign of injury, “are…an absolute…”

“Idiot, I know.” The panic in his chest loosened as she shot him a shaky smile, colour slowly returning to her cheeks. She rested her hand on his cheek, pale knuckles stark against his freckled skin, eyes searching for something he couldn’t yet put a name to.

They were only a hairsbreadth apart and it sounded like her heart was beating in his chest, when—

“Ahem,” A gruff voice cleared to their right and Wally, in his surprise, dropped her. 

He could feel his ears going a brilliant shade of scarlet, “She’s fine!”

From her new position on the floor, the archer shot him a death glare. “I hate you.”

Kaldur—the one who’d interrupted their little…whatever that was—shuffled, looking anywhere but them, “Are you hurt, Kid Flash?”

Wally shook his head. He still felt a little out of it, but it would take more than a measly bomb to knock him out for the count. “I’ll be fine. Where’s Miss Martian and Superboy?”

“Here,” M’gann slipped out of invisibility, shooting each of them a sheepish smile. “I kind of panicked when he threw the bomb.”

“Understandable.” Came the Kryptonian’s deep burr as he stepped out from the gloom, looking completely unruffled.

Wally didn’t know how he did it, but the guy never seemed flustered. Was it the alien heritage?

“Did he hurt you?” Artemis stepped over to her female friend, gently feeling around the other woman’s neck for any sign of injury. “He didn’t nick you in his escape, right?”

“Not that I could tell,” The Martian grabbed the archer’s hands, shooting the blonde a grateful smile. “I’m alright, but I’m sorry I couldn’t do more for all of you.”

“Not your fault.” Conner added quickly, monosyllabic as always.

“Um, not that we don’t appreciate the heart to heart, ‘cause trust me, we really do, but,” Wally winced at how insensitive he was coming across. “Our vigilante is currently getting away.”

“So?” Artemis fixed him with an overly hostile scowl. Obviously she still wasn’t over the whole ‘dropping’ thing. “You’re the one with super speed; go chase him.”

He blinked once at her, “Oh. That’s…fair, I guess.” And then he was gone, zipping out of the room before their expressions even had time to change.

Running was everything to Wally. He didn’t know how he’d ever survived without it.

He remembered once, years ago, when Artemis had asked if running made everything feel faster, if his thoughts became even more tangled and incoherent. 

At the time, Wally hadn’t had the words to answer her. 

Now, however, as he ran, he knew the opposite was true. With every step taken, his mind would settle; slow. Almost as if he were the one crawling at a snail’s pace while the rest of the world passed in an incoherent blur.

He loved it.

That is to say, _usually_ he loved it. Right now it was seriously stressing him out.

While time bent around him in an ill-defined fog, he tried to puzzle out where the vigilante could have possibly gone.

The precinct’s basement didn’t make sense (where could he possibly escape from down there?), which left every window on the upper two floors as a possible exit.

Meaning, Wally had to check all of them for signs of breakage.

“Become a hero, they said.” He flashed down another hallway, zipping from tile to tile as he searched. “It’ll be fun, they said.”

He was so busy griping that he almost missed it when he actually saw it. 

Glass littered the tile, the nightly sounds of the city filtering in through the broken window. 

The hero poked his head out, gazing at the pavement far below. There was no way the vigilante had gone that way, unless he had wings. Or mutant-spider powers.

That left one other option. Up.

He swivelled around uncomfortably to look at the roof above, its lip jutting out slightly from the wall.

Maybe this guy in black _did_ have mutant spider powers. There was no way he’d gotten up there. No way could he—

And then Wally saw a black shape silhouetted against the moonless sky, standing on the flat roof. 

“This guy has to be some kind of metahuman,” The speedster grumbled under his breath as he slowed time around him again, flashing back into the police building.

If he moved fast enough, the vigilante should still be there by the time Wally got up there. Then he could take him down, or just talk to him.

After that display of versatile speed and heightened deadliness down in the commissioner’s office, Wally wasn’t overly eager about going toe-to-toe with the guy.

He liked his jugular intact, thank you very much.

Earlier that day, the team had entered the department from the roof, so Wally recalled exactly how to get to the top of the building.

Sets of stairs passed in a wild blur under his feet and then the maintenance door was in front of him, shattering on impact as he blew through it at inhuman speeds.

Time snapped back into play, his mind careening out of the speed force a he slid to an abrupt stop. 

The vigilante was poised, some kind of weapon (a grappling gun?) aimed at the taller building adjacent the precinct. 

At the sound of Wally’s none-too graceful entrance, the man swivelled his head around, a glare pulling at his features.

Well, what he assumed was a glare. He couldn’t be too sure with the mask and all.

Again, Wally was taken aback by the vigilante’s apparent… _youthfulness_. It sounded rich coming from a defunct hero-post-sidekick still in his early twenties, but it was the truth.

The man wreathed in shadow, standing on the precipice of a three-story building as if it were his natural habitat, couldn’t have been older than eighteen. Nineteen, at the most.

The vigilante turned away again, body tensing as he apparently readied himself for an escape.

“Wait!” Wally’s frantic voice sounded too loud in his own ears, echoing across the open rooftop. 

To his everlasting surprise, the vigilante actually listened. He paused, wrenching his head back around to arch a thick brow at the speedster,

“What the hell do you want, KF?” It was the same oddly light tone, as if they were simply old friends who’d happened to meet up on a suburban rooftop for a quick chat. In the middle of the night. Wearing spandex.

Okay, maybe Wally wasn’t the best with analogies; so sue him.

Then the strangeness of the other’s sentence caught up with, and the hero blinked. _KF?_

Had the guy somehow gotten Wally mixed up with another canary yellow speedst—then it hit him. “Oh. OH. KF, Kid Flash. I get it, I get it.” He shot little finger guns at the dark figure, “I don’t like it, but I get it.”

“I didn’t ask,” The man’s body flexed again, like he was preparing to make a break for it.

Wally mentally cast about, trying to think of something that would hold him there until the rest of the team could catch up, “Uh, you—that is, what about—” Then his limping mind came up with something. “Aha! Your name!”

The only thing betraying the vigilante’s confusion was a slow blink, the white lenses of his mask temporarily flickering out of sight before he seemed to find his tongue again. “My…name.”

“Yeah! Yes, that,” Wally gestured at the man’s ensemble. “It looks like you put a lot of thought into your costume, so don’t you want us leaking your vigilante name to the press?”

“Just so we’re clear,” There was something gratingly familiar about the man’s incredulous tone, but Wally couldn’t quite place it. “You asked me, a possibly dangerous individual, to stop, so you could ask me my name?”

“Yup,” The ginger popped the ‘p’. “Except I already know for a fact that you’re dangerous.” His tone darkened as he remembered the way M’gann’s skin had pressed against the blade, the way Artemis’ chest had rattled beneath his fingertips.

This man might have ulterior motives that weren’t of a sinister nature, but he’d endangered two of the six people Wally cared about most. The speedster wouldn’t be forgetting that any time soon.

To his surprise, however, the vigilante actually winced at his words, glancing quickly at his suit’s heavy boots before looking at Wally again. “A smoke bomb is hardly dangerous,” His voice sounded apathetic, but the strange downward twist of his lips suggested otherwise.

It almost looked like…guilt. Weird.

The speedster cleared his throat, hoping to hear the sound of heavy boots on the stairs behind him. There was nothing; his team wasn’t here yet.

Which just meant he’d have to stall for time a little longer. “Sooo, how about you tell me your name? I’m guessing you already know mine, based on the worldwide publicity.”

“Nightwing,” The man said, eyebrows lifting as if he could hardly believe they were actually having this conversation. “It’s Nightwing.”

Wally related. He could hardly believe half the stuff that came out of his mouth, too. “Cool, cool, cool, any chance you’re going to tell me what you stole?”

Just like that, the emotional walls the vigilante had been slowly letting down—almost so slowly that Wally hadn’t noticed—slammed back down. “No.”

Then he was raising his weapon-like device again, aiming it at the complex next door. 

The speedster resisted the childish urge to curse under his breath. He knew a one-on-one attack wasn’t wise when he didn’t know the possible extent of the other’s powers, but he couldn’t just let this guy get away.

So Wally did what Wally did best; overwhelmed him with words.

“Seriously, wait. Just wait. What about your cause?” Wally backtracked quickly when ‘Nightwing’ cast him a glare so fiery he could feel it despite the man’s mask. “Don’t you want us to know why you killed the kids and are erasing the evidence? What about your dramatic, villainous monologue? What about that?”

Surprisingly, his word vomit seemed to have an actual effect on the vigilante. The weapon nearly fell out of his grasp, the white slits of his eyes widening into pale half-moons.

“You think I killed those kids?” He sounded horrified, stricken by the very thought. “Is that why you’re hear? Your stupid babysitters think I’m some new crime lord?”

Wally tried to withhold his skepticism, but a shadow of it must’ve shown on his face.

“You really think I did it,” The vigilante said more to himself than the speedster. 

However, his horror quickly evaporated into anger as gloved fists clenched, the sound of fabric tightening loud enough for Wally across the roof. 

The man hissed under his breath. “You’re all such idiots.”

Wally made out the faint echo of quiet boots on the steps behind him, relief coursing through his entire being as he realized his teammates were with him.

He barely managed to smother a relieved sigh. _Thank goodness_. 

“Hey now,” The speedster held up a hand, still stalling as he heard them get into place. He didn’t need to turn his head to feel their silent support. “I’m sensing some real hate and hostility here, maybe we should just—”

A geyser of glowing blue water lashed out from Wally’s right, followed up quickly by the familiar _thwacking_ sound of an arrow leaving Artemis’ quiver. 

Surprise briefly overtook the anger clouding the vigilante’s expression as he was forced to dodge, clumsily ducking under the torrent of water and tucking into a roll to avoid Artemis’ projectile. 

“Boy am I glad to see you guys,” Wally felt so much as saw them take up ready positions at his side: fists, waterbearers, and bow at the ready.

The black-haired villain—or not villain, Wally was honestly having a hard time figuring it all out—shot back up to his feet and crouched into a ready stance.

The two forces stood at an impasse for less than a second, five versus one, and then the vigilante was recoiling harshly at seemingly nothing.

His voice was sharded glass when he spoke, cutting into each of them, “Will you stop trying to read my mind already? It’s never going to work.”

At Wally’s left, Miss Martian’s eyes were glowing an acidic green in the darkness, her lips drawn into a taut frown. 

The Martian’s eyes narrowed. “Someday it will.”

The vigilante just grinned at her, that same chilling smile as before. “I highly doubt that.”

“Stay where you are,” Aqualad bit out, slapping his waterbearers against the rooftop in a way that was likely meant to be intimidating. It wasn’t, but Wally didn’t want to burst the Atlantean’s bubble. “Under League jurisdiction, I have no choice but to place you under arrest for the—”

“Oh _mygosh_ ,” Wally couldn’t tell for sure, but it looked like ‘Nightwing’ was rolling his eyes under the mask. “You’re more of a broken record than Superman.”

“Superman is a fantastic hero!” M’gann called out, quick to defend her fellow alien. 

Wally could see the way Conner bit his lip to keep from commenting. Even after all these years, the clone had yet to make up with his source material. 

It was a little ridiculous, if you asked Wally. But, seeing as the ginger had his own score of unresolved familial issues, he really couldn’t judge.

“Right,” The vigilante agreed, voice dripping sarcasm. “Fantastic. I’ll be going now—”

“You most certainly will not,” Artemis took a step forward, knuckles white against her bow. “You’re under arrest.”

“Right,” He said again, that same lethal dose of _you absolute morons_ sounding in his tone. With his free hand, the man gave them all a clumsy two-fingered salute. Then he smiled, the expression all pale teeth with cold curves, and stepped off the edge of the roof.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is completely unedited because I was out of town this week, but hopefully it's not ridden with grammatical errors :/
> 
> Anywho, what'd you think of Angry Grayson?? We're going to be stuck with him for awhile...and Angsty Grayson, a LOT of Angsty Grayson.
> 
> Thanks for reading!! Comments give me life if you've got the time <333
> 
> Stay safe :)
> 
> ~ASL


	8. A Few (Unwelcome) Neighbours

Dick liked to think he was a pretty easy-going guy, though there were probably some Gotham villains out there suffering from fracture marks that would beg to disagree.

He didn’t insult people when they were stupid (which they often were), he didn’t break bones unless people deserved it (which they often did), and he hadn’t committed any homicide…yet.

All this to say, the detective thought he was a decent human being. Not necessarily on the side of the angels, but he definitely didn’t deal in hellfire and brimstone either.  


Which is why the sudden and intense urge to claw off his own ears was more than a little jarring. Better yet, to claw Wally’s ears off. Or maybe practice some defenestration. 

Because the speedster just _would not stop talking_.

Even though Dick had found himself struggling to keep a straight face at some of the ginger’s earlier words, there was something about Wally that put him at ease.

Which is exactly why it had to stop; Nigthwing couldn’t afford to be at ease.

 _But maybe, with Bruce not around…?_  


He frowned, blanketing over that quiet, hopeful voice in his head with hastily fabricated anger. It didn’t matter if Bruce was around or not, Dick still had work to do.

Wally was standing across from him, tangled auburn hair spilling out the top of his cowl. “I’m sensing some real hate and hostility here, maybe we should just—"

Then something happened that had not happened in a long, long time. 

Dick was surprised.

A seething rush of glowing blue liquid— _water?_ —snapped out from the shadows behind the speedster, followed up quickly by the familiar whistle of a loosed arrow.

Acting on ingrained instinct alone, he ducked gracelessly under the lashing water and executed a shaky somersault to avoid Artemis’ arrow. 

Mr. Chatty Speedster must’ve been stalling for time, and Dick had fallen for it. 

The former circus acrobat grimaced as he centred himself again, settling into a defensive position as he surveyed the hodgepodge of junior heroes.

KF was still talking when they flanked him, standing tall while they offered their speedster silent support. It was almost…impressive.

He shook his head, jerking himself out whatever strange mindset he’d just fallen into. Teammates were a weakness, he knew that.

Apparently they were trying to intimidate him, five sets of eyes narrowing as the team stood with their weapons at the ready. 

Dick didn’t know whether to be encouraged by their bravery or let down by their stupidity. He’d have to manage with both, he supposed.

That is, he _was_ feeling encouraged, until a foreign coldness pressed up against the edges of his mind. 

_That darn Martian…_

The vigilante pulled his hardest glare into place, one long since perfected in the darkness of the Batcave, and fixed it on M’gann. “Will you stop trying to read my mind already? It’s never going to work.” 

The woman’s eyes were glowing green and her mouth was pulled into a tight frown, marks of consternation wrinkling the skin between her brows as she quipped back, “Someday it will.”

Dick barely withheld the urge to sigh, slamming down his own mental barriers as he pushed her presence from the borders of his subconsciousness. This whole interaction was really reminding him of why he hated mind-readers.

Smoothing over the tired edges of his face, he pasted a toothy smile in place. “I highly doubt that.”

Was it hard being their level of petty all the time? Did it wear on the brain? Dick subtly eyed the grappling gun in his hand, silently calculating the chances of Wally catching up to him with superspeed if the vigilante tried to escape.

Zero. The chances were basically zero. The speedster would probably trip over his own feet before reaching him.

This whole conversation should’ve ended before it even began. Dick just wanted to go home, huck the vial into one of his safes, and sleep. 

Of course, nobody cared what Dick Grayson wanted. Oh no, God forbid.

Which is why the tired vigilante wasn’t at all surprised to hear Aqualad speak,

“Stay where you are,” The leader shouted across the rooftop, flicking his strange water devices against the concrete. 

Absently, Dick wondered what they were made of, what advanced technology was making them tick. Or was it magic? 

The Atlantean wasn’t finished, however, his dialogue continuing on as he made even more of a fool out of himself. “Under League jurisdiction, I have no choice but to place you under arrest for the—”

Dick couldn’t hold back the visceral need to roll his eyes that seized his entire body by storm. He’d been willing to respect these heroes; not like, but at least admire them for their…passion.

Exasperated words were spilling out of Nightwing’s mouth before he could stop himself, “Oh _mygosh_ ,” Aqualad’s spiel reminded him of his scant interactions with the boy scout in Robin’s early days, back when Batman had still allowed him to work cases the Justice League were involved in. “You’re more of a broken record than Superman.”

The Martian visibly recoiled at his accusation, hair whipping around her face as she snapped, “Superman is a fantastic hero!” 

Nightwing had heard more than enough of Superman’s ‘fantasticness’ to know it was a sham. No one, not even a goodie two-shoes Kansas farm-boy, could be that powerful and not use it for selfish purposes. 

At least, that’s what Bruce had always said.

“Right,” He muttered again, channeling his twenty accumulated years of annoyance into that single word. “Fantastic. I’ll be going now—”

“You most certainly will not,” Sportsmaster’s daughter snorted, stepping forward with her bowstring taut and her fingers twitching towards the quiver. “You’re under arrest.”

Artemis was the only one that Dick had the smallest molecule of tolerance for, as she wasn’t a hero in the traditional sense of the word.

Raised by a bloodthirsty assassin slash hitman, Batman seriously contemplated taking the girl in and indoctrinating her as a bat brat when Dick was fourteen. That is, _had_ seriously contemplated, until Oliver Queen had swept in and brainwashed her to herodom. 

Now here she stood, aiming an arrow at his chest. Interesting how small the world was sometimes.

“Right,” He shot them that same pasted smile, the one that twisted uncomfortably at the corners of his lips. It wasn’t suited to his face, but it was the only one he knew. 

He offered them a two-fingered salute, then hopped of the edge of the roof, the surprised horror on their faces giving him no small sense of satisfaction.

And then he was falling, rushing down as the ground came up to meet him.

Robin had been a dramatic little tyke since his first midnight debut; he’d worn the label ‘Gotham’s Sassiest Sidekick’ like a badge of honour in his early days.

And later days. Really just all the time, if Dick was being honest.

Technically, he’d been Gotham’s only sidekick (not even that, since he insisted on their ‘partner’ dynamic), but the devil was in the details. Or whatever the expression was.

That all to say, Dick liked to think the same applied to Nightwing. Which is why he gave the blaringly yellow speedster a two-fingered salute, then stepped off the edge of the BPD building’s roof.

The junior heroes gave echoing shouts of surprise—and curses, though Dick suspected it was just Artemis who was doing the cursing—as he seemingly plummeted to his death.

Taking aim with an air of bored practice, the grappling line shot out of the gun and up towards the adjacent building, yanking Dick out of his free fall with a terse jerk.

And then he was defying gravity as he has so many times before, the mechanical whirr of the gun in his hand a familiar sound against his ears.

Landing, he executed a flawless back handspring, bowed towards the speechless heroes, and vanished out of their line of sight.

He had a date with his bed, after all, one that he fully intended on keeping.

Deciding against bothering with his apartment complex’s front door, he instead climbed in through his open window and slid to the shabbily decked out tile. 

_Home sweet home_.

The finicky zipper on his suit would one day be the death of him, but that night he managed to wrest it down. It gave, slowly and jerkily, but at least he was finally free of the clingy fabric.

Decked out only in his briefs, as wearing any form of clothes beneath the suit was an uncomfortable impossibility, he tossed the swathe of dark fabric haphazardly over a chair.

Then promptly tripped over a stack of case files and stumbled over to his bedroom.

The apartment was, for lack of a better word, a mess. Papers scattered nearly every available surface, joined by the empty mugs that seemed to multiply daily. The couch was decked out with a blanket and pillow he’d never bothered to put away, rumpled and carrying a stagnant scent. 

Dick only crashed in front of the TV when he literally could not walk the extra twelve steps to his bed; when his legs wobbled beneath him and his brain swam with the words of his most recent mystery.

He deposited the vial into one of his hidden safes and smacked the door closed, giving the combination lock a spin for good measure. Then he yanked out a pair of sweatpants and slipped easily into them.

Frowning when the bottom of the pants pooled around his ankles, he snatched one of his old Bludhaven College sweaters and quickly adjusted it over his torso, making sure his various patches of ropey scar tissue weren’t obvious through the tie-dyed fabric.

It felt like he was practically swimming in the too-large clothing, but after the skin-tightness of the Nightwing suit, Dick didn’t’ really mind all that much.

With that out of the way, he strode over to the kitchen and pulled out last night’s—or maybe last weeks, time flew when you were in a near-constant state of exhaustion—leftovers and a notably cleaner than the rest fork.

Beside his mini fridge, there was a large door that the landlord, Mr. Higgins, told him belonged to an attached suite, one that could house potential tenants who would “be like Dick’s neighbours”.

The night he’d moved in, Dick had broken into the abutting room, smashed one of the windows, and planted local gang insignia on the ledge.

The act of vandalism, according to a distraught Mr. Higgins, had prevented anyone from taking up residence.

Meaning, the next-door room remained empty. 

Also meaning, he didn’t have to worry about civilians bumbling into his space looking to borrow a ‘cup o’ sugar’, then seeing their ‘neighbour’ decked out in spandex and chucking birdarangs at the walls.

It was a win-win situation, if you asked Grayson. No neighbours, no interference, no possibly blown secret identities.

Disregarding the table altogether, he hopped up onto the counter with his takeout in hand. It took an embarrassingly large amount of effort to get situated, but at least there was no one around to witness his struggle.

Then it happened.

There was a knock, on the supposed-to-be-empty door.

Cursing, he set his pathetic meal aside and slid down, bare feet slapping against the cheap linoleum as he pattered over.

Hopefully it was just the landlord come to ask for more marital advice, or the old woman in room three trying to ask him out to an orgy. Again.

Needless to say, when the walking senior’s discount had rapped on the unused door last week, Dick had declined her offer. Even if he had been into such…festivities, the detective was a busy man.

Fixing his celebrity smile in place, he unlocked the door, coming face to face with none other then—

Wally. 

Wally friggin’ West.

Dick blinked, took a long minute to process, then recoiled with a sharp, “Oh _hell_ no.”

Oblivious as ever to the others obvious disdain, the ginger stuck his hand out as if he actually expected Grayson to shake it. “Hyah, new neighbour! Just thought we’d—"

Dick slammed the door in the man’s face without waiting for him to finish, pressing his back against it and closing his eyes.

This had to be some kind of sick nightmare. 

But no, apparently he was still awake. The detective could hear the cheery speedster conversing with someone else, on the other side in low, hushed tones. 

Then a horrible, horrible thought occurred to him. Wally had said ‘we’…

Grayson resisted the urge to knock himself out against the brick wall of his apartment. Instead, he tried to pull himself together with the breathing exercises Bruce had taught him years ago, back when Dick still hadn’t learned all his possible triggers and was prone to panic attacks.

“Time to think, Grayson.” He pressed his forefingers to his temples, mentally pushing aside the anger surfacing in his gut, “This obviously can’t be a coincidence.”

Even if Dick hadn’t stopped believing in coincidences years ago, this was too extreme of one not to be intentional.

Obviously, the junior Justice League had planned this for some reason. Which probably meant that they didn’t trust Grayson, which, based on their suspicions earlier that day, also probably meant they’d arranged this so they could keep on eye on him.

There was no way they’d choose to shack up in the lower end of Bludhaven for kicks and giggles, not unless they had a serious death wish.

The vigilante groaned, balling up his fists and pressing them against his eyelids until little white sparks appeared. He just wanted to _sleep_.

And, now that he thought about it, his ‘Detective Grayson’ persona wasn’t even supposed to know who Wally was. 

He’d only met KF in costume. They were supposed to be complete strangers.

So slamming the door in the speedster’s face likely came across as extremely suspicious behaviour. Now they’d be even more determined to spy on him.

“Shucks,” He whispered under his breath. The only course of action left was to open the door and pretend he hadn’t already met Wally twice; first as Detective Grayson, then later again as Nightwing. 

Dick could practically hear his bed crying from the other room as he wrapped his hand around the handle, turning it slowly as possible to avoid the inevitable interaction to come.

The masculine voices on the other side went silent as he yanked the door open, trying his best to muster some semblance of a smile. “Can I help you?”

The speedster’s pout lifted into a radiant grin so quickly that Dick was surprised he didn’t get whiplash, “Howdy, neighour!”

Dick felt his expression droop into a grimace.

This was going to be a very, very long night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Whew! So sorry for the late update; I was out in the wilderness (my backyard, lol) and didn't have access to internet :p
> 
> I just love how Nightwing from Wally's POV is all 'cold' and 'dangerous', and then from Dick's POV he's just _bed?? tired. sleep??_
> 
> Anywho, any thoughts?? Ideas?? Recommendations?? I love all your comments <333 reader response really encourages me to keep going with this fic :D
> 
> Stay awesome!!
> 
> ~Apples (changing it from 'ASL'; that's literally the acronym for American Sign Language, and I didn't even know cuz I'm a wonky Canadian xD)


	9. A Towel Gets 'Borrowed'

Two years ago, if someone had told Dick he’d be inviting the junior Justice League (who also happened to be his _neighbours_ ) into his apartment, he would’ve laughed them out of the Bat Cave.

Even with Wally, alter-ego of none other than Kid Flash himself, standing before him, the former Robin still wasn’t entirely sure he believed it. 

Speaking of, the ginger was currently giving himself an amused once-over, though the detective wasn’t entirely sure what warranted such a look. “Howdy, neighbour!” 

Of course he was the kind of person to say ‘howdy’ unironically. Dick had to withhold an instinctual face-palm.

The man’s hair was still a tangled mess, the indent from his cowl pressed into the mussed-up sides. Green eyes, crinkled by crow’s feet, beamed at him from behind freckled lids. 

Along with a faded pair of jeans, the man was wearing enough plaid to send Alfred into conniptions. 

Standing to the speedster’s left, partially obscured by the door’s wooden frame, was Aqualad. Or Kaldur, as Dick supposed he’d be called when not acting as the team’s Atlantean leader.

The darker skinned man had a turtleneck on—likely to hide his inhuman gills from civilian viewers—but otherwise carried the same solemn expression as his heroic persona.

If Wally had been offended by Dick literally slamming the door in his face earlier, he didn’t let it show. 

Instead, the taller man simply re-extended his hand, grin widening when Grayson reluctantly reciprocated the gesture.

“Hi.” Dick said flatly, moving on to shake the Atlantean’s hand, trying not to stare at the others dark tattoos. 

Were they the source of his water manipulation abilities? He was dying to ask. 

The detective risked a glance over both the heroes’ shoulders, crystalline eyes roving the seemingly empty room behind them.

Where were the rest of their team? M’gann, Artemis, and Conner weren’t anywhere to be found. 

And then, as if summoned by his thought process, a tepid looking Superboy entered with the _slam_ of a door. 

He was still wearing his loose cargo pants and black shirt, the all-too familiar Kryptonian symbol adorning his chest. Dirt covered the blue fabric on his legs, and Dick absently wondered if the clone had given him chase over the rooftops.

And, more importantly, how had nobody figured out their secret identities by now? They were almost constantly in the media; had not an ounce of stealth between them; and apparently wore their costumes in public. 

So how??

“The cleaning lady won’t give me any towels," The hulking man bit out tersely, mouth pulled into a tight grimace. 

Wally merely sighed as if he’d been expecting this. “We’re in an apartment, dude. Not a hotel.”

Conner’s already deadly expression turned significantly darker, annoyed confusion lurking behind veiled anger. 

The speedster opened his mouth to try again, body shifting into a defensive stance. It would’ve been nearly imperceptible to the untried eye, but Dick had been trained to know exactly when someone was readying to make a run for it. “That means no towels.”

Kaldur cleared his throat, tipping his head minutely in Dick’s general direction.

Wally looked confused for the briefest of seconds, before understanding flooded his features. “Oh, right! I should introduce us—”

Superboy, apparently, had had other ideas. The clone took an admittedly threatening step towards Dick, cutting the speedster off with the barest wave of a hand. 

The raven-haired detective, at Conner’s approach, got the distinct urge to pull himself up to his full height. Which, unfortunately, wasn’t overly impressive to begin with.

He’d faced down characters such as Killer Crock at the tender age of twelve, but this man still somehow intimidated him. Sure, Dick was fairly certain he could take Conner in a fight, but there was something strange about seeing the likeness of Superman’s usually upturned lips morphed into a savage frown. 

It was…unsettling.

“Do _you_ have any towels?” The super asked brusquely, eyes quickly scanning Dick’s disarrayed apartment with detached interest.

It was in that moment, with a jolt of terrifying clarity, that Dick remembered the suit of a wanted vigilante was currently hanging over his kitchen chair.

This situation was going to get very awkward very fast if he didn’t act quickly.

That is to say, _more_ awkward, seeing as—if there were an award show for _Most Awkward Encounter_ —this one would definitely be winning.

He had to act, and he had to act fast.

Resisting the need to look over his shoulder and ensure the notable blue bird emblem wasn’t visible, he instead slapped his celebrity persona in place while yanking the mountain of a man in the direction of the bathroom. 

“I’ve got a few that might work,” He said with infused cheerfulness, ignoring Conner’s surprised expression over getting hauled off by a midget “You can even keep it, since you’ve just moved in and all.”

His bathroom was the only room in the apartment that he actively kept clean, everything impeccably placed and the counters practically gleaming. Alfred would be proud.

Dick grabbed the first towel he laid eyes on, hoped it was clean, and placed it into Superboy’s awaiting hands. 

Wally and Kaldur, seeming unsure of themselves, hesitantly stepped over the threshold and stood awkwardly in the confines of the disastrous kitchen.

The detective felt a malicious thrill of satisfaction knowing they were as equally uncomfortable with this as he was.

Did that make him petty? Probably. Did he care? No, not in the least.

The Graysons were performers first, after all, and damn did this one deliver.

Keeping that same trained smile in place, the one that covered professional business magazines and monthly tabloids alike, he subtly shifted so his torso blocked any possible view of the suit. Hopefully they wouldn’t think his odd stance strange enough to comment on.

Conner, after giving his towel benefactor one last nod of approval, stomped out of Dick’s apartment. Or maybe he wasn’t stomping; it was hard to tell when the super’s muscle mass alone was equivalent to that of a small elephant. 

Once the Kryptonian had exited, Dick was left alone with a grim Kaldur and beaming Wally. 

Perfect. _Excellent_. Exquisite. _Wow_. He could not convey his sarcasm any more blatantly.

“I’m Wallace West, but you can call me Wally. My stoic friend who looks like he just attended four funerals is Kaldur’Ahm.” The ginger’s nose wrinkled, “And Rude Towel Thief also goes by Conner Kent.”

Dick schooled his face into what was hopefully an interested expression, “Richard Grayson, but I prefer Dick.”

He could see the speedster visibly restrain himself from cracking a, likely less than PG 13, joke. “Alright…Dick.”

The detective felt his overly happy, and overly fake, smile shift into a smirk before he could stop himself. “Whatever you say, _Wallace_.”

Instead of looking put-out like Dick had expected, the speedster barked out a deep laugh. The sound was somewhat at odds with the man’s regular speaking voice. “Good to know you’re not a complete stick-in-the-mud.”

Kaldur coughed lightly into his hand, “That is to say, since we first met you _five minutes ago_ ,” He gave Wally a pointed glare, probably hoping to remind him they were pretending not to have met Dick before. “You’ve seemed a little tense.”

The whole trained detective slash vigilante shtick aside, and even without his naturally good people reading skills, Dick would’ve still been extremely suspicious of these two. 

They were terrible actors; and that was putting it mildly.

He was half-tempted to expose them here and now, just to see the surprise on their faces. 

But then he’d have to fess up to being a wanted vigilante, breaking into the BPD, holding a knife to their Martian’s neck, have them accuse him of murder again…yeah, not worth it.

Mentally heaving a sigh, he decided to play their little game for now. After, all the less they suspected Detective Grayson, the less likely they were to connect him with Nightwing.

That, and who knew what useful little tidbits he might uncover when the team was at ease? Things like potential weaknesses, relational issues, or even allergies.

Not that he would ever use someone’s allergy against them in an actual fight, but knowledge was power and all that jazz.

They were already spying on him, after all. Wasn’t it only fair he return the favour?

Acting the part of exhausted cop—which honestly wasn’t that hard, seeing as he was both exhausted and a cop—he leaned back against his chair with a huff. “I guess I have been a little tense lately.”

“A little?” He heard the speedster murmur, though the comments was accompanied by a sharp _oof_. 

Glancing up, he saw that Aqualad had elbowed his loose-lipped teammate in the side.

“I’m a detective for the BPD,” Dick continued on as if he hadn’t noticed Wally’ slip-up. “We don’t get a lot of paid vacations.”

They didn’t get any paid vacations, actually. And even if they did, would he ever take them up on it?

No. The answer was no. Dick did not... _relax_.

The ginger seemed to genuinely perk up, feigned surprise widening his eyes. “Awesome. I wanted to get into forensics when I was younger.”

The detective gave him a quick appraisal, silently changing his perspective of the other man. Wally had seemed immature, borderline childish. For him to be interested in cataloguing crime scenes and analyzing data seemed out of character. Or, at least, out of Kid Flash’s character.

It completely stumped him for a moment; the realization that there were actual people behind their personas. He knew KF, but did he know Wally? 

Bruce always had a way of de-humanizing people, of choosing not to believe in their better natures. Dick had never been able to be that impersonal, that cold.

Even with Gotham’s lowest lowlifes, he’d always had a sort of companionable relationship with them. Sure, they’d still try to kill him if given the chance, but what else were friends for?

Dick had always admired Batman’s resolve for professionalism before, but now with this lanky, overly plaid freckled man giving him that too-genuine smile, he wasn’t sure what to think.

For, if this hero was not all he seemed behind the cowl, what about the rest of them?

Only when Dick felt his smile begin to slip did he curb that train of thought, carefully setting it aside for later inspection. He didn’t have time for a personal crisis and, if there was one thing Grayson excelled at, it was compartmentalizing.

Before the detective’s contemplative silence had time to drag on, a shirtless Conner strutted out of the other apartment’s bathroom, dark hair dripping wet.

He paused, eyes flicking from Kaldur to Wally, as if assessing them for signs of injury, before finally settling on Dick. 

“Jeez, man.” The speedster groaned, shooting their host an apologetic look over their roommate’s half-naked state. “Way to make a good first impression.”

None of them were making a very good first impression, the detective himself included, but Dick wisely decided to keep that to himself. “It’s, uh, fine.”

Superboy’s glare zeroed in in him again, blue eyes coldly analyzing every detail. Apparently whatever he was searching for on Dick’s face he found, for his cloudy expression lightened somewhat. “Thank you.”

The vigilante wanted nothing more than to push them out the door, slam it in their faces (again), and install several heavy-duty deadbolts. 

Unfortunately, he had a persona to maintain, which meant forcefully removing them from his premises wasn’t an option. Stupid, inconvenient social norms.

Alternatively to tossing them out, he slipped another smile on and gave the massive man a quick nod, “You’re welcome.” He then gave Wally one of the blandest stares in his arsenal, “And if you guys ever need anything else—soap, extremely personal hygiene products, toothbrush, a luffa—you know where to find me.”

“I genuinely cannot tell if that was sarcasm or not,” The speedster stated, auburn eyebrows drawing low over his eyes. 

It was sarcasm, definitely sarcasm. Dick would never lend anyone his luffa.

“The offer stands for us, as well.” Kaldur said, dropping his hands onto his confused companion’s shoulders and guiding him towards the door. “If you ever need anything, we’re only a door away.”

Oh. Oh no. They weren’t seriously considering making this a common occurrence, were they? Dick wanted to cry.

Fortunately, Wally seemed to catch on to the fact that the detective was having an internal crisis and allowed the Atlantean to lead him out. “Thanks again, Dick! Maybe we can have dinner sometime, or like a brunch? Is brunch even a thing anymo—"

Kaldur, bless his aquatic soul, gently shoved the speedster through the door and closed it, leaving himself and Grayson as the room’s only occupants. 

“I apologize for my roommates’ behaviour. Wally is passionate, but he means well. And Conner does not give his approval freely.”

Dick remembered the feel of the super’s cold stare and couldn’t help but agree. “It’s fine. Just wasn’t expecting any…company.”

A wry smile twisted Kaldur’s darker skin, “I gathered as much.” He gave the messy a kitchen pointed, but strangely not judgemental, glance. “I’ll leave now, I simply wanted to insure there was no ill will between us.”

“None at all,” the detective winced, already hating the geniality of their conversation, “neighbour.”

“Have a good night, Dick.” One last quiet smile, and then the man was practically gliding out of the room, exercising the same fluid grace Nightwing had seen up on the rooftop earlier.

Soon as Kaldur was gone, Dick sagged against his chair, almost toppling it over in his sudden surge of exhaustion. 

His trick knee, one that Two Face—or had it been Joker?—bashed in several years ago, throbbed rhythmically as he grudgingly limped towards the recently closed door. 

Usually it was fine, but sometimes when he worked himself too hard, or stood awkwardly at a gala for too long, it was as if he could feel the bones breaking all over again.  


The lock sliding into place sounded like heaven; the muted voices from the other side echoing like damnation.

It was only when he was free-falling into his beautiful, flawless, perfect bed, that Dick realized he had just flaunted his PJs in front of half the junior Justice League. 

PJs which included his tie-dye college sweater. That was three sizes to large.

Letting out a few of his old circus day curse words, one’s that would have even stone-faced Bruce blushing, he buried his entire head underneath the pillow to hide his mortification. He was far too tired for this.

No wonder Wally had looked so amused when he first entered the apartment. Dick was practically drowning in his oversized clothes. 

So much for maintaining a professional air, he thought sleepily. That ship had evidently sailed without him.

His stomach began to growl up a complicative storm, but the raven-haired man ignored it, burrowing further into his comforter in retaliation. There was no way he was getting up.  


If he left his bed again, who knows what would happen. Maybe Superman would fly in through his window and try to borrow a razor, or Flash would zip in and steal his bathrobe. He wouldn’t even be surprised at this point, not after seeing Superboy make off with his bathroom towel.

No, it was better not to risk it. 

With a small but genuine smile twisting his lips, Dick finally allowed himself to sleep.

He would deal with the fallout of his new neighbours in the morning, if at all.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My personal favourite ship?? Grayson x Bed. Or Grayson x Sleep, either works ;P
> 
> Also, _I am SO SORRY for the late update_!! I went on a wild, week long canoe trip with a few friends, and it was _hell_. Like I consider myself an outdoorsy person, but NEVER AGAIN am I doing that. 
> 
> I don't even know what this chapter's about. I wrote it in an exhausted state and my arms are noodles. What r werds???
> 
> Anywho, thank you so much for reading!! I should be on time this week with my update (knock on wood, lol), so I'll see y'all then!!
> 
> Drop a comment if you can, and have a great week :D
> 
> ~ASL


	10. A Disarming Annoyance

When Artemis woke up the morning after the Team’s rooftop encounter with Nightwing, she was surprisingly well rested.

Sore, but well rested.

M’gann and her had gotten a room across from the male members of the team, partially out of spatial necessity and partially because of gender. 

There was nothing wrong with sharing a room with the three men—she’d done it plenty in the past, out of both necessity and convenience—but, if it could be avoided, she’d take that opportunity.

Not only that: but her, Aqualad, and Wally had silently agreed that their Martian/Kryptonian couple, for the sake of the mission, could not be allowed to share a room. 

Either they’d end up fighting over something, or doing less... _appropriate_ things if left to their own devices. 

The archer slipped off the lumpy couch that’d operated as her bed and pattered over to her small travel suitcase, yanking out her suit and pulling it on in the chilled morning darkness.

As a precaution, she zipped a worn sweater over the top half of her costume. It was unlikely that there’d be any civilians bumbling around, but better safe than sorry.

The door to the bedroom was closed, which meant M’gann either wasn’t up yet or had already made her way to the boys’ room. 

The latter was far more likely, going by the Martian’s exhaustion the night before. But Dinah was always telling Artemis to practice her optimism. 

A pointless exercise, if you asked her. However, she respected Black Canary enough to keep trying.

She was almost nervous to leave her room. Knowing Wally and Conner, and Kaldur’s inability to control the two, they’d probably already blown their cover with Grayson. And somehow burned half the building down in the process. 

Fortunately, the hallway wasn’t on fire when she stepped into it. The walls looked just as dingily intact as they had upon the team’s arrival last night.

That was a good sign, at least. 

Raising a fist, she hammered it against their door, discouraged by the lack of movement she heard from the other side. 

Then there was a slam, muffled curses, and the sound of a bolt being drawn. The door swung open, revealing a bleary-eyed Wally West.

A bleary-eyed and _shirtless_ Wally West.

Before Artemis had time to process where, exactly, her gaze was going, she was already drinking in the expanse of pale skin. 

The question of just where his freckles actually ended—a question Artemis hadn’t even realized she’d been asking herself until presented with his naked torso—went unanswered as he proved to be covered in little marks, from the tips of his broad shoulders to the narrowing indent of his navel.

When the silence in the doorway lingered on for a little too long, she saw his tired face suddenly look very, very wide awake. As if he’d only just now remembered the absence of his shirt.

“O-oh, Artemis.” He cleared his throat, crossing his bare arms over his— _freckled_ —chest. “I didn’t see you there.”

Her own voice sounded warbled in her ears when she spoke, like she was gargling with marbles. “The door was closed. Of course you didn't see me.” 

Was she flushing as bright red as he was? The thought just made her blush even harder. What was wrong with her??

Wally re-crossed his arms, face pulled into a pathetic approximation of his usual smile. “M’gann with you? Pretty sure Conner’s going into withdrawals.”

At the familiar, joking lilt of his voice, she relaxed somewhat. Now this she could handle; humour was familiar ground with the ginger speedster. 

This strange, newfound _thirst_ was definitely not.

“Probably has the shakes already,” She added, willfully keeping her eyes fixed on the tip of his nose. _Which is also freckled_ , that foreign voice added in a snide whisper.

Thankfully, another face came into view, this one decidedly darker than Wally’s pale visage. “Good morning, Artemis.

“Morning, Kaldur.” She gave him a firm nod, noting that he was already wearing his costume. At least _he_ had the decency not to come to the door half-naked. 

The speedster looked as relieved as Artemis felt to have a way out of the earlier awkwardness, “I’ll go get ready. See you in a flash—"

And then he zipped away, that familiar brace of wind and lightning fluttering the stray curls that escaped her ponytail. 

Kaldur frowned, glancing over his head in the direction Wally had disappeared in. “That was…strange.”

She smoothed her hair back into place, hoping her cheeks were no longer flushed crimson. “Extremely so.”

“Where’s M’gann?” A familiarly gruff voice barked out, Conner storming out of the apartment towards them. 

Or maybe he wasn’t storming. It was kind of hard to tell the difference between his _I’m angry_ walk and his _M’gann is an amazing girlfriend I love her so much and therefore must see her now_ walk.

“She’s still in the other room. I didn’t see her when I—"

The lovestruck hero didn’t bother waiting for her to finish, slipping past Kaldur and marching right across the hall without a backwards glance.

“You’re welcome,” Artemis muttered under her breath, though the words weren’t half as bitter as they would’ve been several years ago. 

She now understood, and respected, that Conner cared for each of them in his own way. It wasn’t fair of her to push for more, especially when she herself was still working on relational platonic intimacy. 

That being said, she wouldn’t hesitate to stick him full of arrows if he ever so much as looked at M’gann the wrong way.

Already well-adjusted to his team’s various quirks, Kaldur didn’t even blink at Conner’s sub-zero attitude. “Would you like to have some breakfast? I made eggs.”

She nodded, trailing after him into the other apartment, not in the least bit surprised that overly responsible Kaldur had already made a grocery run.

Last night, upon seeing their rooms for the first time, they’d decided that the boys would get the slightly bigger one due to their increased numbers. 

Meaning, the men also got the one next to their target detective.

Forgoing all conversation for the sake of the food in front of her, Artemis sat down on one of the rickety bar stools and tucked in. Kaldur stood quietly beside her, rubbing his chin, what Wally had dubbed his ‘thinking face’ weighing at the corners of his eyes.

Speak of the devil. The ginger speedster barreled into the counter with a streak of lightning fading behind him, slamming a heaping breakfast onto one of the chipped plates while simultaneously stuffing a piece of toast into his mouth.

He was wearing his brilliantly yellow suit, cowl pulled down and resting around his neck. 

“You disgust me,” Artemis said in between bites, trying to replicate their usual banter. 

She’d been expecting something like his usual _love you too, babe_ response, so the archer was a little surprised when, instead, Wally only crammed even more food into this mouth. 

Was he…embarrassed?

The room’s door flew open, revealing a listless M’gann and a stoically swollen-lipped Conner. 

_This_ is why they couldn’t have nice things. Soon as those two were left unsupervised, they started making out.

The Martian was literally floating a few inches off the ground, tethered only by Superboy’s hold on her hand as he pulled her towards one of the empty stools.

Did anyone even care about their League assigned mission anymore?

Artemis groaned, rolling her eyes so hard she was sure they’d fall out of their sockets.

“Hi, guys,” The red head chirped, breezing by and shamelessly plopping into Conner’s lap. “How’d you all sleep?”

“Great, sweetcheeks.” Wally shot her a disgustingly full of food grin, “How ‘bout you? Conner withdrawal didn’t keep you up, right?”

The Martian merely smiled, leaning back against her boyfriend’s wide chest before answering. “I had a wonderful sleep.”

Artemis decided now was the perfect time for an intervention. “Did you make contact with the target last night?”

“Jeez, Arty.” Wally scooped up some more breakfast, forgoing a stool altogether and plopping up on the counter, distractingly long legs swinging back and forth. 

She hated (read: loved) how he just couldn’t seem to stand still.

“You make it sound like we’re planning an assassination,” He continued, “Just call the guy by his name.”

“Richard Grayson-Wayne, ward of Bruce Wayne, next in line for the Wayne family enterprise.” Artemis had heard the mantra tossed around Gotham streets enough that it now seemed familiar, taking up permanent space in her memory. 

“But he prefers Dick,” Wally added. She didn’t even have to look up to know he was grinning as he said it.

“I have heard of him before,” Kaldur added in, still stroking his chin like some wizened old monk. “Bruce Wayne gives a monthly donation to the League.”

“That’s right!” M’gann snapped her now-pale fingers together. She usually didn’t stay green in public places, especially when they were trying to remain incognito. “I see him on TV all the time. He thinks vigilantes are a disgrace.”

Artemis couldn’t withhold her scoff. “That’s probably just parrot-talk. Someone who has the entire United States judicial system in his back pocket’s likely never even seen the Batman.”

“I thought that was the point of Batman,” The Martian said softly, “to take down those protected by politics and fame. The people the Justice League can’t touch.”

“No. Batman’s a tyrant. He talks big about upholding the law, ‘protecting’ the little people,” Artemis made air-quotes with her fingers, then stabbed her breakfast with more force than was strictly necessary. “But has zero responsibility. He could be taking bribes, aiding the underground, _staging_ his own rescues. And we would never know.”

Kaldur cleared his throat, likely hoping to avoid further argument. “For now, we are to consider him a threat. And, based on our interactions with the Nightwing last night, we should extend the same mindset to him as well.”

“He didn’t seem very threatening,” M’gann said contemplatively.

“The guy literally held a knife to your neck. And choked us out with a smoke bomb,” Wally gave her an incredulous stare, “How could you possibly not find him threatening?"

The Martian shrugged, apparently unaware of the way her boyfriend’s fingers were tightening around his fork. Evidently he didn’t like the vigilante any more than Artemis did. “He seemed nice.”

Deciding that they’d gotten a little off topic—and hoping to distract Conner before he put a hole in the wall—she steered them back onto the subject at hand, “So, did you make contact last night?”

“Jeez, yeah, we talked to him. One track mind, much?” The speedster shot her one of his specialty smiles, the kind that made her physically sick.

That is, if the strange _fluttering_ sensation in the pit of her stomach counted as a sickness. She suspected it meant something else entirely, something she didn’t have the time nor patience to think through right now.

“Please tell me you didn’t blow our cover,” She said instead.

“Oh, no.” He snorted, waving one hand in a dismissive motion. “We were super subtle. Like, I don’t think he was suspicious at all.”

“He slammed the door in our faces,” Conner said in his usual morose deadpan, “then gave me a towel.”

Artemis blinked. Needless to say, she felt like there were a few crucial details missing from his story. “I’m sorry, what?”

Kaldur, heaving a bone-weary brand of sigh, took up the narrative, “Conner said Grayson wasn’t asleep when we got back, so we decided to get the initial introductions over with.”

“And he closed the door in your faces?” Artemis prompted, still patchy about how they went from slamming doors to thrifted towels. 

“He did not look happy to see us,” Kaldur remarked. “But he did let us in. Wally introduced us, then Conner asked for a towel. His apartment was in a state of disarray and he seemed tired, so we didn’t stay for long.”

“I can’t believe you just…” She rubbed at the nape of her neck, already feeling stress physically manifesting there despite the still-early hour. “I guess that’s one way to meet our neighbour.”

“He wasn’t a complete stuck-up,” Wally smiled, freckled cheeks dimpling at the motion. 

Gosh, she hated him. He was such an idiot.

_So why couldn’t she look away?_

“He was rude,” Conner muttered in his usual blunt manner. “But I liked him.”

Artemis shook off her Wally-induced stupor and pushed back from the counter, controlling her expression so it remained neutral.

She already new Richard Wayne was a brat. An entitled, spoiled brat who’d had his entire life handed to him on a silver platter. 

All the anger she thought she’d handled—all that hot red hatred—flared to life at the thought that one person, who hadn’t worked a day in their golden life, got _everything_ while kids in the slums of Gotham sold their bodies for food. 

She’d seen the Narrows; she’d walked the alleys at night; she’d fended off the city’s darkest characters, their groping hands. And what had the Waynes done? Dropped a few bills? Held a few charities?

Such disregard for human life _disgusted_ her.

The archer pulled her green mask out and slipped it over her eyes, hoping it would help disguise the likely vitriol expression on her face. “We should head out.”

She felt so much as saw Kaldur and Wally exchange a concerned glance behind her back, the speedster’s usually go-lucky expression surprisingly solemn.

“Well?” The blonde snapped, turning around and fixing each of them with a glare. She already knew she was going to regret this relapse in temper later, but right now she couldn’t care less. “I thought we were supposed to be at the station early?”

Kaldur nodded, slowly rising to his feet and fixing her with a pitiless stare. “Artemis is right.”

His matter-of-fact tone eased her tepid mood only slightly. She’d always appreciated how he viewed her as an equal; as someone who was worthy of respect, not sympathy or fake smiles.

Unfortunately, it did little to tide the growing and directionless anger slowly building beneath her skin.

“Alright,” M’gann’s voice was chipper as ever. “I’ll wake up the bioship. She was a bit tired after last night.”

Artemis was about to follow Aqualad, Conner, and M’gann out the door, when she felt a single finger slip onto her wrist.

Whirling around, she yanked her hand back, a snarl already slipping in place when—

When she saw that it was Wally, a sheepish grin not doing much to blanket the worry in his eyes. 

“Don’t touch me.” She snapped, ignoring the way her heart stuttered fearfully in her chest at the unexpected contact. “What do you want?”

He cast a pointed glance at the motley crew by the door, who were watching them with wide eyes. “You guys go ahead, me and Arty need to talk.”

Artemis didn’t bother turning around again to see how their teammates reacted. She crossed her arms over her chest and fixed the speedster with a glare, “ _What?_ ”

“I’ll ask you next time.”

She paused, confused, her glare loosening into a frown. “Excuse me?”

“I’ll ask you next time. Before touching you, that is.” He continued on, as if this were a completely normal conversation to be having. “I’ll always ask.”

That took the wind out of her sails completely, and she sagged into a looser stance. Every bone in her body was telling her she should be tensed, battle ready, so why was she relaxing?

Why was he so disarming?

“Okay,” There was no bite in her voice when she answered. “What’d you want to talk about?”

His serious expression tipped upwards into that familiar smile. “Nothing. It just looked like you needed a minute to gather your thoughts.”

He was absolutely right, and Artemis absolutely hated how easily he could read her. It was terrible and vulnerable and….and nice.

As she followed him to the door, she muttered under her breath. “You know I hate you, right?”

He laughed, annoyingly brilliant green eyes twinkling at her. “I know you do.”

But they both knew she was lying, for she’d been smiling when she said it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Alternate title for this chapter?? Artemis _PINES_. Like I'm pretty sure, when she wasn't angry, she was pining o_O
> 
> I know, excuses excuses, but I'm currently house-sitting and I kid you not, this lady has _six. frickin. cats_. Like don't get me wrong, I love cats, but keeping them inside this tiny house is driving me INSANE
> 
> ....It wouldn't be a VJ update at this point if it wasn't late, eh??
> 
> Anywho, thanks for reading!! Hope you have a fantastic night/day/whatever :D
> 
> ~ASL


	11. A Bloody Development

By the time they touched down on the department’s roof, Artemis’ mood had significantly improved. 

She was with her team, the morning sun was peeking through Bludhaven’s smoggy cloud cover, and her earlier anger had (mostly) dissipated. Things were looking up.

Her good mood lasted for all of forty-five seconds.

As she stepped out of the bioship, her eyes snagged on the cracked cement where Nightwing’s grappling hook had rooted itself the night before, and then her calming breathing exercises and newfound positivity went out the window.

She reluctantly followed the rest of Young Justice into the precinct below, wishing they were anywhere but here. 

It’s not that she disliked their case or the commissioner, it was more so that she’d likely do something stupid and possibly violent if she saw Grayson right now.

Fortunately—or unfortunately, depending on how you looked at it—the complete and utter chaos of the police department served as the perfect distraction. 

Young and senior officers alike were running willy-nilly, faces pinched into a varying array of angry puckers and panicked grimaces. Papers were flying and people were stomping as they tried to restore some semblance of routine.

At first, Artemis wondered who’d pissed in their boots. Then she remembered that Nightwing hadn’t just attempted to slit M’gann’s throat; he’d _also_ robbed the precinct. 

She supposed their anger was justifiable.

“Heroes,” A lazy drawl sounded from behind them, cutting through the surrounding chaos like a hot knife. “Griffins is waiting for you in the commissioner’s office.”

It was the officer from the day before; the one that had led them to Detective Grayson. Artemis didn’t care enough to remember his name.

“Good morning, Deputy McKibben,” Aqualad gave the tall man a brief nod. Thank goodness for the Atlantean’s functioning memory. “We’ll make our way over there now.”

McKibben ignored the Atlantean in favour of yelling something unintelligible at one of his fellow officers, who was apparently doing something wrong, before fading back into the flurrying precinct.

“Well, he was just as unpleasant as I remembered. Which is to say, extremely unpleasant.” Wally muttered, echoing Artemis’ thoughts exactly, “Hopefully the commissioner doesn’t skin-us-alive for not capturing Nightwing.”

Aqualad shook his head, “I highly doubt someone of her professional standing would remove our skin,” his tone suggested he’d just departed sage wisdom upon them all. For such a smart guy, he sure was thickheaded sometimes.

The speedster leaned in close to Artemis’ ear, warm breath tickling her skin and sending chills up and down her spine. He whispered a quiet, “She’s going to kill us.”

Artemis couldn’t help but agree. She, too, would be angry if a bunch of low-life barely-adults waltzed in and failed to do their jobs.

Speaking of, Commissioner Sheila Griffins looked no less intimidating in the early morning hours than she had yesterday. 

She sat behind her desk, not a hair out of place, muscled arms crossed over her chest. Her eyes seemed to follow them as the team filed in, Aqualad at the front and Conner stoically bringing up the rear. 

“Good morning, heroes.” The commissioner didn’t sound particularly angry, but it was difficult to tell with her usually morose tone. “I trust you found safe accommodations last night?”

“Yes, ma’am.” Their Atlantean leader once again exhibited his extensive diplomacy skills, giving her a quick nod before moving on. “We apologize for our negligence concerning the vigilante.”

“It won’t be happening again,” Wally cut in. 

“In no way do I blame you for this theft.” Griffin raised a single hand, effectively cutting off whatever Aqualad tried to say in protest. “We were _all_ equally unaware of this vigilante’s interest in the bloodwork. We were not prepared. Next time, we will be.”

Artemis nodded along with her fellow teammates, fists clenching at her sides. Nightwing would not be escaping them again.

“Now then, nothing has been reported stolen from the evidence lock-up. Though it does appear to be the only part of the building subject to robbery. We’re guessing some low-life, desperate criminal is behind it.” The woman speared each of them with her dark gaze as she spoke, “At least, that’s the cover story we’re going with. No one but me, you five, and the detective involved have been made aware of the vial’s absence.”

“Is that because of the mole?” M’gann piped up softly from beside Superboy, “Do you think someone on the inside could use the information of the thief's success against you?”

For the first time since they’d met her, the commissioner looked her age. She sagged bodily against her desk, dark skin pulled tight across her cheekbones. “Yes. That does seem to be the case. I don’t know how else the vigilante would’ve been able to target the exact location of what they were looking for, or how they would even know to look for it in the first place, if we didn't have a mole. I do not want them to know they succeeded.”

“I see,” Aqualad acquiesced, “I know my team has no mole in its ranks, but I offer my condolences. We know from experience the presence of traitors—willing or unwilling—are deeply unnerving.

Griffin merely tipped her head to that, not acknowledging his olive-branch-sympathy any further. “If you have nothing requiring your immediate attention, I would greatly appreciate a run-down of last night’s happenings.” A wry smile twisted her lips as she focused on something, or someone, behind them, “Detective Grayson does not like being kept out of the loop.”

Artemis, giving into her ingrained paranoia, followed the commissioner’s gaze over her shoulder and saw—

Detective Grayson, standing in all of his glory. Which, if Artemis was being honest, wasn’t all that much. He looked tired, dark bags dragging down the skin under his eyes and mouth pulled into a tight smile.

“I always knew you cared, ma’am.” When he spoke, even his voice sounded fatigued.

Despite his obvious exhaustion, the man had somehow managed to sneak up on them, entering the already crowded room and taking up position without alerting the heroes to his presence. 

The archer _did not_ jump when she noticed him, but it was a near thing. Wally and M’gann, on the other hand, violently startled, the Martian even rocketing up off the floor in her surprise.

Superboy’s lips merely twitched upwards. He’d probably caught on to the detective’s stealthy entrance immediately, but decided it would be more amusing not to warn his teammates. 

M’gann, seeming to notice her boyfriend’s smirk, smacked him lightly on the arm. Not nearly hard enough to hurt. “You knew!”

Superboy didn’t deign to answer, but his smirk grew exponentially in size.

Artemis wasn’t sure if she should be relieved or annoyed that Conner seemed to have taken a liking to this short, black-haired man. 

Annoyed, if this newest scenario had anything to do with her choice.

There was an amused glint in the commissioner’s eyes, as if she’d been expecting this whole debacle. “Thank you for coming, detective. Your presence is greatly appreciated.”

“Anytime, ma’am.” To his credit, Grayson didn’t actually sound sarcastic when he said it. Almost as if he actually respected someone above his own station. Strange.

Aqualad, apparently recovering the quickest from the detective’s stealthy arrival, directed his team’s attention back to the matter at hand, “Wally arrived at the rooftop first, so it is only fair he does the briefing.”

The speedster, still looking a little ruffled, nodded his head and began to retell the story. 

Artemis and the team were already familiar with most of it, but when he reached the part about his arrival on the roof, the archer tuned back into his explanation. 

“—when I got to the roof, he was about to escape but I kind of…distracted him? I honestly didn’t think it was going to work, but he stopped for some reason. He said his name was ‘Nightwing’, when I asked about it.” Wally shifted, eyes narrowing underneath his goggles, “He also said…that he didn’t kill those kids. It didn’t seem like he’d wanted to hurt Miss Martian, either. That seemed more like an accident.”

“From what you said, he still hurt her,” Detective Grayson cut in, crossing his arms over his uniform, expression absolutely lethal. “That’s not something I’d forgive easy.”

His reaction seemed strange, unless he was some kind of closet Miss Martian fan? But based on his apparent scorn for all thing’s hero, that explanation seemed unlikely. 

Again, _strange_.

The commissioner, seemingly not finding anything out of place in Grayson’s reaction, continued on with her interrogation. “Did he give any explanation for his theft? Any possible reasons?”

“No.” At her side, Wally shook his head, hair flopping in unison with the action. A half-smile graced his lips as he continued, “He seemed oddly reluctant to monologue.”

The detective snorted, then tried to cover it up with a poorly executed cough. 

To her surprise, Superboy was the one to fill the following silence. Even more surprising was who he chose to speak to: “What about you?” He asked, directing his usual glacial glare in the detective’s direction.

When Grayson found the room’s collective gaze on him, he glanced theatrically over his shoulder—found no one else there—then pointed a crooked finger at his own chest, “Who, me?”

Conner didn’t bother nodding, merely barreling on. “Aren’t you supposed to be this case’s detective? So, what have you detected?”

“Since I just got this case _yesterday_ and wasn’t even aware that the vigilante was a part of it,” He scratched at his head, as if calculating something, before settling on an answer. “Nada.”

“So, nothing.” Artemis stated, raising a skeptical brow at him.

The affirming answer came wrapped in a sarcastic French accent, if such a thing even existed. “Oui.”

The commissioner had an smarmy look in her eyes, as if she knew something they didn’t, but she evidently decided not to share it. “Well, now that we’ve—”

Whatever Griffin had been about to say was cut off by the door flying open, a stout figure abruptly shoving their head in, “Ma’am! Ma’am, I need to—”

The newcomer paused, eyes widening as he took in the room’s other occupants. He looked young, probably nothing but a junior officer. “Oh, sorry. I didn’t know—”

“What is it?” The commissioner said, waving aside his apology. 

“Right,” The man straightened immediately, “Someone from a south end bar called in. Said there’d been a murder.”

“Why are you telling me this?” Griffin looked like she already knew where this was going, but had to confirm it anyway. “South end murders are low-tier.”

The man—more of a boy, really—paled, “Because it wasn’t just one murder. Five people are dead.”

Grayson, who had been uncharacteristically quiet until then, finally added himself into the conversation. “That doesn’t warrant a trip to the commissioner’s office, Pete. You should be talking to forensics.”

“My name’s not Pe—Oh, never mind. First responders already brought forensics in, that’s not the issue here.” The officer turned directly toward the detective, fixing his wide-eyed gaze on him. “The only witness says she won’t talk to anyone but Detective Grayson. She specifically asked for you by name.”

Said detective eased back, face smoothing over as he ingested the other’s words. “Interesting.”

When that seemed to be the extent of the man’s reaction, Pete (or whatever his actual name was) swivelled imploringly towards the commissioner, “Ma’am, this is a time sensitive issue! The sooner we get her statement—”

“I know how legalities work,” Griffin said brusquely. “Grayson, go.”

“Yes, ma’am.” The young detective gave her a haphazard salute and turned towards the door, stopping only when Aqualad blocked his exit with a tattooed arm.

“Commissioner, if I might add, we should accompany Detective Grayson. It’ll give us a chance to see the city from a more relevant perspective.”

“You are free to do as you wish,” The woman waved a hand at them, then snapped her fingers to get Grayson’s attention. You, on the other hand,” She narrowed her eyes at him, “ _Behave_.”

The man sighed, but nodded despite his obvious reluctance. “Yes, ma’am.”

“Good, dismissed.”

As soon as the words left her mouth, the detective was gone. He didn’t even glance behind him to see if the heroes were following, merely slipping out the door and exiting the station.

Aqualad didn’t hesitate before falling into step with him, apparently trusting that the rest of the team would follow his lead.

Together, Grayson’s darker uniform sticking out like a sore thumb among their brightly coloured crew, they made their way out of the police station. 

The detective didn’t seem to notice there was an issue until he’d stepped up to his squad car, the same one that’d been at the warehouse yesterday. 

Then he glanced back at the heroes still tailing him. Then at the car. Then back again at the heroes. “Why’re you following me?”

Kaldur opened his mouth to answer, looking surprised, but Artemis cut him off. “We’re riding with you. To the crime scene. It doesn’t make sense to travel separately.”

“Besides,” Wally said, instantly jumping in to support her argument. “We told the commissioner we’d go with you.”

Grayson’s brows drew low over his eyes, like he was confused, “I didn’t think you meant literally.”

The ginger smiled, “Of course we meant literally. We’re very literal people.”

That didn’t seem to appease the detective. He still looked extremely hesitant to let any of them near his car, “Not all of you are going to fit.”

“I can fly!” Miss Martian piped up from the back, hovering off the ground as if she needed to prove it to them. “I’ll follow behind you guys invisibly, that way everyone else can fit.”

“Oh, goody,” Grayson deadpanned. He unlocked the car despite his obvious reluctance to do so. “Let’s just get this over with.”

M’gann flickered out of sight as the detective popped his door open, climbing in with a grace that suggested familiarity. 

“I call shotgun!” Wally cried, lightning wreathing his limbs as he flashed toward the passenger side door. 

Artemis and Conner, not half as petty as their resident speedster, slid into the back without complaint. Metal bars separated them from the cab, reminding Artemis that she was, matter of fact, in a police car.

She hadn’t ridden in a police car for a long, _long_ time. It was kind of nostalgic.

Kaldur, resting his hands on the passenger side-door, exhibited one of his rare smiles. “I think the leader gets shotgun, no?”

Once Wally had reluctantly moved to the back, pressing up against Artemis in a way she both hated and couldn’t get enough of, Grayson started the engine.

And then they were off, hurtling through the streets of Bludhaven like the devil himself was at their wheels.

Artemis was honestly somewhat surprised they arrived alive. Grayson drove like someone was giving birth in his backseat; like he wanted to tear the paint off the pavement. 

After a few breakneck corners and run yellow lights, they finally pulled to a stop outside of a seedy, taped off bar.

Police officers and first responders alike stood around by the door, looking bored and malcontent despite the supposed severity of the situation.

Piling out of the backseat proved much more difficult than getting into it.

Artemis, ignoring her reluctance to detach herself from Kid Flash’s side, instead focused all her energy on pushing Conner out.

Kaldur, who’d pulled team leader privileges earlier, stepped out the passenger door without preamble. 

She stood next to the cruiser while Wally hauled himself out, M’gann materializing to her left, smile already intact. The sidewalk at their feet was filthy and cracked, littered with a few less than sanitary objects. Growing up on the streets of Gotham, it was nothing she hadn’t seen before.

The cruiser’s driver side door slammed shut and Grayson moved to stand beside them, slowly taking in the sight of the officers bumming around. 

Artemis watched him grimace slightly before smoothing it over, raising his chin, and marching towards the neon outfitted entry. It was almost as if he pulled a string and a new curtain fell; something detached and indifferent taking over his face.

His fellow law enforcers parted before him, some shooting him looks of outright hostility while others simply frowned.

Artemis walked right behind him, knowing the team was on her tail without having to check over her shoulder. 

If the sight of Grayson had caused tension, the heroes’ presence doubled that. A tidal wave of whispers swept through their ranks, the exact words being muttered about them audible to only Conner’s ears. 

As soon as she stepped over the beaten threshold, Artemis’ nose was instantly assaulted. 

The decrepit, low-lit bar stank of cheap booze, lingering cigarette smoke, and—worst of all—blood. The iron tang of it was so thick she nearly staggered back into Kaldur. 

People she could only assume were forensics milled about, talking in soft voices. They, however, weren’t what initially caught her eye.

The dismembered, bloody bodies littering the floor were. Someone—or some _thing_ —had literally torn them apart.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well...I was gone for a hot minute. Sorry, y'all T-T
> 
> My friends snatched me up for a COVID friendly summer road trip, and I had _zero_ time to work on this, hence my little disappearing act
> 
> but I'm bACK!! I also made this chapter a little longer, because you are all such incredible people and deserve thousand word bonuses <33333
> 
> Thank you so much for reading!! If you have any questions (Or an idea for a primary antagonist??) I'd love to hear them!!!
> 
> Have a fantastic week, everyone :D
> 
> ~ASL


	12. A Little Hostility

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just a little gore warning for the beginning, my friends. Nothing overly graphic, but like...consider yourself warned, eh?

It was somewhat difficult to tell, but there looked to be five or six of them, each in horrifying states of gruesome disassembly. 

Flies had gathered, their incessant buzzing mingling with the police radio chatter and forensic gibberish. Also mixing with the already putrid scent of the bar’s cigarette smoke stuffiness, was the smell of death. A sort of nose-curling rot that had Artemis’ stomach folding in on itself. 

She wanted to look away, felt the pull of muscles screaming at her to just leave, but she knew a single detail could be what broke the case.

Heroes couldn’t afford the luxury of ignorance. Not here, not ever.

Blood and fluids slicked the worn wooden dance floor, spilling from the bodies of the mangled victims. 

_Mauled_ , Artemis thought blearily. _It looked like they’d been mauled_.

Someone had already thought to pull a plastic sheet over two of the bodies, but the rest were still being photographed as topical evidence. 

Grayson’s unexpected movement to their right was the only thing strong enough to pull her from her stupor, his heavy boots squelching in the red mess at their feet as he walked away.

Later, she would be shocked by his quick recovery over the macabre sight. Now, it took everything in her to swallow down the bile in her throat and follow him. 

At the moment, she didn’t have any room left for extra conspiracies. 

He seemed to be heading toward a tall, gangly man toting a large black bag. Said man was pale, borderline gaunt, and absolutely seething at Grayson.

Artemis was half surprised Grayson didn’t join the dead bodies on the floor; that glare was lethal.

The celebrity slash detective stopped in front of the glaring man, inclining his head slightly in lieu of a greeting. 

The man, who looked even taller next to Grayson’s diminutive stature, ignored the nod entirely. “What are _you_ doing here, _Dick _?”__

____

The detective didn’t even blink at the barbed insult. Evidently, this wasn’t his first rodeo. “How original, Addams. I see your promotion has gone straight to your already over-inflated head.”

__

Kid Flash, who’d followed after Grayson with rest of the team, smothered a snort. Even stone faced Kaldur quirked a small smile.  


__

The man—Addams—turned an exotic shade of plum beneath his greasy mop of hair. “Why are you here? And why are _they_ here?” He turned his grey gaze on the heroes, fixing the still grinning Wally with an especially dark scowl. “Come to usurp my investigation again?”

__

Grayson rolled his eyes at the other man’s obvious dramatics. When he spoke, there was a slight strain in his voice, like he was struggling to keep his tone civil. “No. I’m here because a witness wants to talk to me. And they’re here because the commissioner assigned us a case together.”

__

“Still acting as Griffin’s little lackey, I see. No surprise there,” Addams gave an extremely unflattering snort. “You always were a suck-up.”

__

“Yes.” Grayson’s face could’ve been etched from stone with how blank it was. “I assume you’re referring to when I paid off the whole college board, and slept with several academy instructors, and gave an erotic pole dancing show to the dean, and water boarded the award’s committee so I’d graduate with my full scholarship intact.”

__

Beside her, Kaldur looked flabbergasted. Even Artemis, who’d grown up on the rather shady side of things, was taken aback by his apparent confession.

__

“Garh! You are insufferable. I _know_ you did those things! Just because I could never find out the truth—”

__

This time it was Grayson who snorted, “You wouldn’t know the truth if it smacked you in the face.”

__

“—doesn’t mean I’m wrong!” Addams finished stubbornly, “There’s no other way you could’ve been promoted to detective that fast. No other way you could be Griffin’s right-hand man after barely a year on the force.”

__

The younger man’s eyes glittered dangerously at the mention of his boss, every ounce of mirth vanishing in an instant. “Say her name again and I will have you sipping out of a straw for the rest of your meaningless existence.”

__

The already pale man went considerable paler at that, but kept on running his mouth all the same. “Don’t think I won’t figure you out someday, _Dick_.”

__

Grayson just sighed, turning to Kaldur and, upon seeing the Atlantean’s concerned expression, offered a quick explanation, “We went to the same police academy, and Addams here got it into his head that any and all success was thanks to me sleeping with the faculty.” He cocked his head, as if considering something, “That, or I was funneling money into their accounts. I mix up his BS sometimes.”

__

Addams sputtered, tongue seemingly tied as he searched for words. He finally settled on a weak, “Better watch your back, faker.”

__

The detective rolled his eyes, “I’ll do that. Can you take us to the witness now?”

__

Artemis hadn’t thought it possible, but Addams’ frown set even deeper. “ _My_ witness. And I don’t know why she wants to talk to you.” He eyed the detective up and down pointedly, “Then again, the Wayne’s always did have a more… _flirtatious_ image.”

__

Grayson simply ignored the taunt. “Where is she?”

__

Seeming to realize the detective wasn’t going to rise to the bait, Addams’ deflated slightly, setting his bag down with a defeated _thump_.

__

Without indicating whether or not he meant for them to follow, the toothpick of a man spun on his heel and took off towards one of the bar’s darkened hallways.

__

Grayson heaved a heavy sigh before turning toward Kaldur, “You can come if you want, or you can hang around the crime scene. Your choice.”

__

Artemis didn’t have to look to picture the sprawled and broken bodies. The smell of death was still thick in the air, leaving all-too little to the imagination.

__

It was true that she’d seen worse; seen the bloodier, bristlier remains of human conflict.

__

From a young age, Artemis had known what death was. Had it dog her every footstep in the form of her father. Only when Oliver had offered her a place on Young Justice—where she’d found a purpose, a family—had she finally been free from the fear of it.

__

But just because she’d seen such things before didn’t make her comfortable with them, didn’t make the scene behind them any less horrific.

__

Kid Flash answered before Kaldur could, speaking what was likely the team’s shared opinion. “We’ll go with you.”

__

The detective’s blue eyes (had they always been that _bright_ in the magazines? That searching? Assessing?) narrowed for a moment, as if weighing options they could never fathom.

__

Then he shrugged, heading down the hall in pursuit of Addams.

__

The team followed after. Artemis, for the first time, wondering if there was more to Grayson than met the eye.

__

The hallway was lit only by a flickering exit sign and, for a moment, Artemis thought they were going to leave the building.

__

But Addams’ dark silhouette stopped in front of a beaten looking door, its wood surface covered in outdated flyers and twisting graffiti.

__

He didn’t bother knocking, merely seizing the rusted handle and strutting in.

__

Grayson and the heroes followed, Artemis with a sinking feeling she knew what to expect. Knew what profession their witness was in.

__

Her suspicions seemed confirmed when the room, illuminated by a torn string of dollar store paper lanterns and a dirty window, appeared to be some kind of living space.

__

Four uniformed people were standing around one woman in a chair, skin-tight jeans and a sheer blouse doing little to hide her bony figure. She looked to be in her early twenties, barely older than them, with short, bleached white hair dyed pink at the tips.

__

Her mascara-runny eyes widened at the sight of Grayson, only to narrow again when she spotted the heroes flanking him.

__

Did _anyone_ in this city trust superheroes??

__

Addams crossed his arms over his chest, fixing the detective with a smug look, as if to say _bet you weren’t expecting THIS_.

__

Grayson, to Artemis’ surprise—he kept doing that today; surprising her—ignored Addams completely in favour of kneeling on the grimy floor in front of the woman.

__

With his back to the team, Artemis couldn’t tell what expression he was making, but whatever it was seemed to put the witness instantly at ease. Then he looked up, fixing what was probably an icy glare at the four extra officers,

__

“You are making my witness uncomfortable.” He shifted, rising to his full, rather unimpressive height. “Leave.”

__

One of them, a young officer with crooked teeth, gaped in surprise. “S-sir—we can’t just— _you_ can’t just—”

__

“ _Leave_.” The dark-haired man’s tone left no room for debate.

__

To the poor man’s credit, Crooked Teeth tried to stand his ground, “But sir, it’s against protocol. You aren’t allowed to—"

__

Addams, looking considerably less smug now, grudgingly joined the conversation, “Do as Detective Grayson says. We need her statement.”

__

“Yes, sir.” The officers clearly weren’t happy about it, but they obeyed, quickly filing out of the room while giving Grayson a wide berth and nervous glances.

__

Soon as they were gone, the woman slumped in her chair and let out a relieved, breathy sigh that rattled deep in her chest.

__

The room was silent for about half a minute before Addams broke it. “Need I remind you we’re on a bit of a tight schedule here, detecti—”

__

“Why doesn’t she have a shock blanket?” Grayson interrupted as if the other man hadn’t been speaking. “She’s clearly in shock,” He gestured to the witness, who had begun to tremble where she sat.

__

The team’s gaze, including Artemis’, snapped back to Addams for his response. It was like watching a very personal tennis match, one in which Grayson had just executed a particularly impossible serve.

__

Addam flushed that same shade of purple as before. Absently, Artemis wondered if he had some kind of heart problem. “You know this as well as I do. I’m not in charge of doling out—”

__

The detective’s eyes widened in faux innocence, the expression not fooling anyone. They may have only known him two days, but it had quickly become apparent that Grayson didn’t do innocent.

__

“I thought you’d been promoted to head on-scene investigator, Addams. Doesn’t that make you in charge of little things like shock blankets?” He blinked, lashes fluttering excessively. “Or was I mistaken?”

__

Addams looked absolutely livid, previously murky eyes blazing with barely restrained anger. “Listen here, Detective Junior. _I’m_ in charge, _I’m_ calling the shots. Now if you don’t start—”

__

“Then you get your primary witness a shock blanket.” That earlier civility vanished in an instant. “And you get it now.”

__

Was that the third time Grayson had interrupted him? Artemis really should start keeping track. She and Wally could make some sort of game out of it.

__

“She doesn’t need a—”

__

The detective spun so fast he appeared blurry; legs taut as if he were about to pounce. His body displayed an unholy amount of rage for a such a small package.

__

When Artemis deemed it safe to take her eyes off him, it was somewhat of a shock to see that Addams hadn’t melted under the force of his glare.

__

When he did speak, Grayson enunciated each word with careful precision, as if rolling them around in his tongue before uttering them. “Go get your witness a shock blanket.”

__

Addams looked appropriately terrified, but straightened with unspoken resolve despite the five-foot-something wild animal clearly getting ready to attack him. “No, she’s a literal whore. She doesn’t need a shock blanket.”

__

Grayson’s hand flicked down to his belt for some reason, fingers flexing as if miming to grab at something that wasn’t there.

__

A pen, perhaps? So he could stab Addams’ eyes out? He certainly looked angry enough to be contemplating an eye-stabbing. Artemis herself was contemplating an eye-stabbing.

__

She’d had friends during high school who hadn’t been able to make ends meet, who’d had little brothers and sisters to care for and no help from parents. They’d never told her details of what they did in seedy alleys on Friday nights, but....Artemis knew.

__

Watching Grayson get mad, even if it was justified, stirred the thoughts in her mind. Maybe…maybe she _should_ consider taking Dinah up on her counselling offer. If Artemis looked anything like this when she was about to go off the hook…if her friends saw her like this…

__

She didn’t want to be that angry ever again.

__

Grayson, however, seemed fully intent on surprising her today. Instead of flying into a homicidal rage, he breathed deeply through his nose, nostrils flaring, and seemed to quietly push everything down.

__

The process lasted no longer than a second before the detective was smiling, the expression somehow more lethal than any of his previous anger. “Addams,” His tone matched the upward curve of his mouth, but that same frigid steel flashed in his eyes, “ _Get. Out_.”

__

Artemis mentally made a note to avoid getting on his bad side for as long as humanly possible. She did not want this midget cop as an enemy.

__

Addams apparently shared her sentiment, if the way he turned tail and fled was anything to go by.

__

“Well,” Wally said, filling the following stunned silence. “That was…intense.”

__

At the nonchalant tone of Kid Flash’s voice, Grayson’s entire body relaxed out of its ready position. “I thought he would never leave.”

__

Artemis didn’t know whether to be relived—or insulted—that he didn’t view them as enough of a threat to stay on his guard.

__

Relived, probably.

__

The detective turned back to the woman, once again taking a knee in front of her so they were level. “Sorry ‘bout that. Do you mind telling me your name?”

__

The woman heaved in another shaky breath, “Stage name, or given?”

__

“Whichever makes you more comfortable.”

__

That made the woman smile, the expression a little wobbly but still definitely there. “Hennessey said you were trustworthy. Said you were one of the good ones. I wasn’t sure if I could believe her.”

__

Artemis subtly eyed Grayson up and down, wondering what could possible be so good about him. All he seemed like to her was a grumpy, privileged cop. Too smart for his own good and lacking in motivation.

__

Though…here he was, kneeling on a filthy floor, talking amicably with a person someone of his class would usually scorn.

__

She’d have to think about all this later, when they weren’t next door to a gruesome crime scene.

__

“Hennessey. I remember; nice lady, wicked sense of humour.” He cracked an oddly crooked smile, “Literally.” 

“My name’s Ida,” The woman said. “I asked for you because…because I knew they wouldn’t take me seriously. Wouldn’t believe me.” Her fingers curled into tight fists as she spoke, “But you believed Hennie about the assault charges, even got that man convicted. I knew you would listen.” 

__

Grayson didn’t look taken aback by her admission at all, “’Course I would. Do you mind if my—" His lips pulled into a tight grimace, as if the word itself somehow displeased him, “partners sit in? They’re assisting me with a case.”

__

Ida eyed the heroes cautiously, “I guess if they’re with you, it’s okay.”

__

The detective glanced over his shoulder, acknowledging them for the first time since they’d entered the room. “Well? Sit.”

__

They were quick to obey, probably thinking, like Artemis, that they did not want to see this man angry ever again.

__

It was strange, sitting on the floor in a little half-circle, united by a common goal. Almost as if the six of them were a team.

__

She huffed quietly to herself while Grayson proceeded with the questioning, voice as soft as she’d ever heard it. Them, on a team with Richard Wayne-Grayson? How ridiculous.

__

Yet there was still a part of her (albeit a small one) that couldn’t help but hope.

__

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you for reading!! Hope everyone had a great week, y'all deserve it <3333
> 
> So, I _finally_ got around to figuring out who the villain(s) will be!! A lot of you left some super awesome ideas in the comments that had my mouth literally hanging open! You folks are so smart!!
> 
> Now, I won't _tell_ you which one's I decided to roll with (no spoilers xD) but I think it'll become pretty obvious soon? Maybe??
> 
> Have an awesome week, you fantastic people!! Next chapter we'll be getting some Grayson POV ;P
> 
> ~ASL


	13. An Interrogation Goes Out with a Bang

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> (I combined two of my earlier chapters that were super short, so sorry if the chapter count confused you! Happy reading!!)

Contrary to popular belief, Dick Grayson was not blind to the looks he sometimes got.

There were the glares of haters, the ambitious once-overs of ladder climbing businessmen, and the crazed eye-undressing of his fans. 

The last were his least favourite. Hate he could handle, but the actual _shrines _some people had put together? Terrifying.__

____

That all to say, he was used to being stared at. Used to being in the public’s eye as both a celebrity and wanted vigilante.

____

And yet, despite that, the way Artemis just _kept staring at him_ had Dick completely confused.

____

Seriously, what was her problem? One minute she seemed ready to fill him so full of arrows he’d resemble a porcupine, then the next she’s looking all shocked. Like he’d just sprouted a tail, or something.

____

He couldn’t even come up with a proper metaphor because it was so _weird_.

____

It was while he was doing his best to ignore Artemis that he knelt in front of Ida, pulling out his phone so he could type out any especially crucial details.

____

But the back of his neck kept prickling, and he knew the archer was staring, that same oddly surprised expression on her face. He was half-tempted to turn around and catch her in the act, but they had bigger fish to fry.

____

Like the rampaging murderer that had literally torn apart several people in the room next door.

____

Ida had, thankfully. stopped trembling now that Addams’ (oh how his blood pressure rose at the mere _thought_ of that absolute moron) was out of the picture.

____

Tuning out Artemis and the rest of the heroes, he fixed their witness with what was hopefully a soft smile—he was a little rusty in the ‘being friendly’ department—and got down to business. “Can you tell me where you were at the time of the attack?”

____

Dick found it better to start with easier questions; to build up to the ones requiring more difficult answers. The last thing he wanted was to traumatize her further.

____

“I was just here, at the bar. Most of my usual clients don’t come in till later, round dark, but Bill pays me double to hang ‘round during the day.”

____

“Bill?” He kept his tone low, conversational. Like they were simply two old friends having brunch. “Is he your boss?”

____

Ida paled, one of her hands twisting the buttons of her blouse. “Was. He _was_ my boss—” She choked, knuckles white where they were clutching at her shirt. “He was the first to—to go.”

____

“Hey,” He extended his hand, letting it hover above her knee. “Do you mind if I touch you?”

____

Again, he felt Artemis’ gaze swivel to the back of his head. She was staring.

____

Was she suspicious? Was she trying to incinerate him with sheer glare power? Was she getting ready to jump him?

____

Ida, unaware of his internal crises, nodded, so he gently placed three fingers on the denim covering her knee.

____

He’d always found person-to-person contact grounding during times like this, a pressure he could focus on outside of the mess in his head. “I understand that this is hard for you, but I also know that, if you’re anything like Hennessey, you are more than strong enough to survive this.”

____

She sucked in a shuddery breath, then nodded again, back straightening against the chair. “I was…mixing drinks behind the bar. I’m technically not supposed to, but Bill…he said the patrons think it’s hot. Or something. He was the owner, you know, so what he says goes.” Another trembling breath, and she continued, “What he said went. Bill was meeting up with some new guys in town. Said they were suppliers.”

____

“Suppliers for what?” Kaldur asked before Dick could, his usually morose voice a soft timbre.

____

Ida fidgeted in her chair, nervously eyeing the door where Addams’ and his clown crew had exited. “Drugs. Bill was looking to expand our clientele with some harder, newer stuff. Said it would attract younger people.”

____

Dick leaned back, maintaining the light contact between them while also giving himself space to think. 

____

Drug deals went down in places like this all the time, nothing unusual about that. But something was sticking out to him. Something he couldn’t quite put his finger on.

____

“You’re not going to tell?” Her frantic voice broke him out of his musings. “I won’t be charged with compliance, right?” Tears welled up and pooled on her lashes, but she quickly wiped them away before they could fall. “I’m just trying to pay for school.”

____

Out of the corner of his eye, Dick saw Artemis move to crouch beside him. There was quiet understanding in her eyes in place of their usual hard glint, “I don’t think the police are worried about drug charges right now, so that can stay between us.”

____

“Thank you,” Ida gasped out. She took a minute to pull herself together, clumpy mascara drying on her cheeks. “This other man came in, and he didn’t look so good. Stumbling and stuff. I didn’t think much of it. Day drinkers and junkies come in all the time. It’s not really my job to ask questions. 

____

“But then he turns and sees Bill’s table and just… _changes_. I don’t know how else to describe it. One second he’s just a crackhead, and the next he’s got—he’s got _claws_ and is moving and—” She cuts herself off, quickly glancing up at Dick as if reassuring herself he was still there.

____

He tapped out a random pattern on her jeans, carefully meeting her gaze. “We’re not going anywhere.”

____

“I’m not crazy,” Ida says to him, though it sounds more like she’s telling herself. “I swear I’m not making this up. I wasn’t on drugs or anything. I hadn’t even taken a single shot—”

____

“Hey, miss,” Behind them, KF spoke up, voice infused with a lightness none of them were feeling.

____

Dick had to squash his startled jump at the sound. He’d nearly forgotten about the rest of the teams’ presence.

____

“You’re talking to a man with gills, a metahuman, and two aliens,” The ginger carried on, voice still pleasantly light. “Trust me, we’ll believe you.”

____

Dick half wished he could pitch in too, though he didn’t think _and an illegal, wanted vigilante_ would go over well.

____

Ida looked marginally encouraged by their lack of disbelief, her eyes methodically scanning each face. She seemed further put at ease by whatever she found there.

____

“Okay. He started changing, then he just—" She grabbed Dick’s hand, squeezing it so hard he felt his bones creak. The gunshot graze from yesterday, though tightly bandaged, sent a twinge of fizzling white pain through his arm at the contact.

____

He kept the grimace off his face, knowing it might dissuade Ida from telling the rest of the story.

____

“—Then the man, or animal, I guess. He—it—had a tail and everything. It didn’t look like a man, anymore, then it just clawed one of the stranger’s necks.” She ran tentative fingers across her own neck, as if making sure it was still intact. “That’s when I ducked behind the counter. I couldn’t stay there. I thought he was going to—”

____

A broken sounding sob bubbled out of her throat and she pressed a hand to her mouth, looking both surprised and horrified by the outburst.

____

Dick figured she needed a break and was more than happy to provide her with one. “I’m guessing that’s when you called the police? When you were behind the counter?”

____

She bobbed her white hair in a nod, the hand currently not clenching Dick’s own in a death grip still clapped over her face.

____

The look in her eyes was all too familiar.

____

He’d seen it when he was younger, when he’d first arrived at Wayne Manor and looked in the mirror. _Survivor’s guilt_. The weighted, suffocating thought of _why am I the only one still here_.

____

A shiver traveled down the length of his spine as memories, memories he did not particularly like remembering, wormed their way to the forefront of his mind.

____

He must’ve made some kind of twisted expression, because Artemis’ gaze was suddenly fixated on the side of his face. This time, since she was beside him, he could actually see the way her eyes narrowed to slits.

____

Clenching his free hand in his lap, he smoothed his face back into its usual schooled blankness.

____

Now was not the appropriate time for a personal crisis, not when there was a hurting witness two feet in front of him.

____

He turned his attention back to Ida. “I realize you’ve been through a lot, and you can stop answering questions anytime you’d like, but do you think you could describe what he looked like before he changed?”

____

Dick had plenty of experience with mutant type metahumans, or just plain mutant types (like Killer Croc). It wasn’t certain that knowing what they looked like would help ID them, but there was always an off chance it would.

____

Ida had just opened her mouth to answer, mouth set with grim determination, when Dick saw Superboy twitch.

____

The clone went completely still, angling his head towards the ceiling as if hearing something up there. Dick felt his own body tense warily in reaction to the super’s vigilance, his head swivelling up so he could glimpse what Conner saw.

____

Except he couldn’t see anything, only _hear_ it. Now that he was aware of it, there was a loud ticking, getting steadily louder—loud enough now that Dick’s own very human ears could pick it up.

____

He knew that sound. Knew it a little too well from his years spent in Gotham amongst bomb-happy criminals.

____

_Timed explosive_. It was definitely a timed explosive.

____

Could he not even ask questions in peace anymore? What was this world coming to??

____

The revelation that there was, in fact, a bomb in the ceiling above him, seemed to take minutes. In reality, it was a mere second.

____

The rest of the team were only now catching on, eyes widening with slow and sudden understanding.

____

He couldn’t rely on them for help, he had to act immediately.

____

Dick pulled his gaze down from the ceiling and snapped his head back right, then left, mapping out the trajectory the ceiling would take when it inevitably blew downwards.

____

If he was correct (and, not to brag, but he usually was), the first bit would land right where Ida, he, and Artemis were.

____

This was obviously too direct and targeted to be an accident; someone was trying to blow them out of the picture. But, again, he had no time to consider possibilities.

____

Without wasting precious time on warnings, he kicked Ida’s chair backward, not bothering to watch as it sent her skidding. She might get hit by some stray shrapnel, but lacerations were better than getting blown to bits or crushed by the ceiling.

____

With her safely out of the way, he dove at Artemis and tackled her to the ground just as a maelstrom of concrete and heat exploded behind them.

____

The force of it sent his face smacking into the back of Artemis’ head and he tasted blood in his mouth, though he wasn’t sure whether it came from a broken nose or a bitten cheek.

____

Smoke and dust instantly cloyed the air, filling his lungs and making it difficult to breathe.

____

Their rough landing had knocked the breath from his chest and now his body was working double time to pull it back in.

____

For an enticing moment, he considered just lying there. Maybe closing his eyes…

____

But there was no way he was dying here. Not when he hadn’t even had breakfast yet.

____

Craning his neck, which was already sore from the odd way he’d slammed into the archer, he tried to look behind them but his eyes were too blurry with plaster dust.

____

He could feel Artemis struggling and cursing beneath him, but couldn’t hear what she was saying. There was a ringing in his ears. An odd sort of buzzing silence that followed explosions of this magnitude.

____

His eyes were now watering, so when he tried to squint into the gaping hole in the ceiling, he wasn’t entirely sure what he was seeing.

____

There was a flash of something in the dark, just a blur really. But he thought he caught the barest glint of metal armour.

____

A dash of colour, an inhumanly fast motion, and then it was gone.

____

Dick blinked once, wondering if he’d actually seen anything or merely had some new form of head trauma from the explosion. He honestly wasn’t sure which outcome he preferred.

____

Refocusing back on the archer beneath him, he realized she’d stopped cursing but was still pushing at him weakly.

____

Slowly, as not to exacerbate any injuries he had and just couldn’t feel yet, he pulled himself off her and sat up.

____

The world seemed to flicker in front of him, or maybe he was just blinking again. It was getting harder to tell the difference.

____

Then Artemis filled his field of vision, her eyes looking oddly concerned and her mouth moving.

____

There was a cut on her chin from where it must have scraped along the floor, and he reached out carefully to see how deep it was.

____

Not quite enough for stitches, so that was good.

____

For some reason his actions seemed to annoy the archer, and she pulled his hand down, lips moving even faster now,

____

—you absolute and utter moron.”

____

Oh. He’d heard that bit. Why was she calling him a moron, though, besides the usual reasons?

____

“What?” He said slowly, carefully enunciating each syllable even as his tongue tried to slur them.

____

“I _said_ , are you alright, you absolute and utter moron,” Her voice sounded frantic, borderline hysterical as she looked at him.

____

Did he have blood on his face or something?

____

“I think I’m fine.” To be honest, he couldn’t really feel the rest of his body yet. In his experience with this kind of thing, it took a minute for any injuries to really make themselves known.

____

Shock. He vaguely recognized that as a symptom of shock.

____

The archer looked somewhat reassured, now that he was talking and able to hear her. “You sure? You don’t look…” She trailed off, eyeing him up and down again carefully, “great."

____

Her tone lit the fire under his usual annoyance towards her, lulling it back to life and causing some of the bleariness that’d been clouding his thoughts to dissipate. “Well sorry I don’t look fresh off the runway, _Arty_. Remind me to glam myself up next time we’re nearly blown to high heaven.”

____

For some reason, that made her smile. “Yeah, you’re fine.”

____

He rolled his eyes at her, only for the action to send a bolt of pain lancing through his forehead. _Of course_ he was fine.

____

“Are you alright, though? Nothing broken?” Dick eyed her up and down, much like she’d just done to him.

____

She looked okay. Evidently his impromptu tackling had successfully protected her from most of the fallout.

____

“Yeah, I’m good.” She pressed two fingers to her ribs, and Dick recognized the movement as checking for signs of breakage. He’d done it to both himself and Bruce, on multiple occasions. “Ribs are probably a bit bruised, but nothing I won’t survive.”

____

“Sorry.” He said quickly, eyeing the only dust-free swathe of floor where they’d landed. Dimly, he realized he didn’t want to apologize, but his brain-to-mouth filter wasn’t really working at the moment.

____

“You know,” She looked at him again, something unrecognizable in the soft curve of her mouth. “I think I like post-explosion Grayson a lot more than detective sour-puss Grayson. He’s talkative. And honest.”

____

He flipped her off, ignoring the twinge of pain brought on by the movement. “S-screw you, ponytail.” His body had the audacity to sway underneath him as he spoke. “Damn traitorous limbs.”

____

Artemis laughed, like he wasn’t being perfectly serious.

____

_Was_ he being serious? His mind was too addled to tell.

____

She opened her mouth, probably to say something stupid, when there was a bout of heavy coughing somewhere to their right.

____

Dick abruptly remembered that they weren’t alone. That there was half a team and a witness somewhere in the settling dust and rubble.

____

He tried to leap to attention, fully intent on finding them, only to crumple back down when a flash of pain ran up his right leg.

____

Evidently his shock was finally eddying, as the rest of his various aches and ouches were now making themselves known.

____

Biting back a curse, he stared down at his leg, noting with a grimace that there seemed to be something sticking out it.

____

Wire. Wire meshing from the pathetically weak plaster brick ceiling.

____

The archer hopped up onto her two perfectly fine, functioning legs—no Dick wasn’t jealous, just annoyed—and slipped one of her shoulders under his arm. She propped him up, taking the weight off his apparently impaled leg.

____

The woman had to bend oddly to accommodate him and his shorter stature, because everyone on the Young Justice team was freakishly tall.

____

Artemis didn’t say anything, to which he was grateful for, and merely waited patiently while he readjusted himself to this new way of walking.

____

“You good?” She asked when he seemed situated, her grip on his shoulder just tight enough to keep him from collapsing again.

____

“Good.” He managed to squeeze out between gritted teeth. “Peachy.

____

Again, Artemis didn’t snark about his obvious lie. She simply gave him another quick once over, then said, “Let’s go find them.”

____

Together, with him propped on her shoulder, they headed off under a blanket of settling dust.

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably _riddled_ with mistakes I didn't catch, but I am literally walking out the door as I post this so....no editing :/
> 
> Life was busy enough BEFORE one of my siblings decided to up and marry during a pandemic. Now it's straight up _HECTIC_ round here @-@
> 
> Anywho, thanks for reading! Hopefully my _planning-a-wedding-oh-gosh-how-do-i-do-this_ brain didn't ruin the chapter!! 
> 
> Comments are always appreciated and I love you all and my ride is about to pull away without me byeeeeee
> 
> ~ASL


	14. A Bit of the Aftermath

Walking was a new kind of hell. 

Each little movement sent a thrum of dull aching throughout his body. Each breath rattled in his chest. 

At least nothing seemed broken. Yet.

He took another step, still being bodily held up by Artemis, as they slowly made their way around the massive heap of shambled rubble. 

At that moment, there was no time for compartmentalizing the white-hot pain arcing up his leg. Or the piece of wire sticking out of it.

Though he was tempted to remove the projectile (he really did not appreciate the sensation of cold metal moving inside him, thank you very much. All in all, about a two out of ten), he had enough experience with impalement to know that was a very, very stupid idea.

Removal of the object would mean losing more blood, which would mean possibly collapsing. Which was something he really didn’t want to do right now.

But there was no time for a pity fest, not when Ida and the junior Justice League had possibly been blown to bits by a bomb or pancaked by collapsed concrete.

Dick was fairly certain the rest of the team hadn’t been in the ceiling’s trajectory, but it’d been a split-second approximation. Who’s to say he hadn’t misjudged something?

Then he stopped suddenly, causing Artemis to stumble and shoot him a confused frown. 

He barely registered it. A thought had just occurred to him.

 _Since when did he care about them?_ There was an odd bit of… _worry_ fluttering fragile wings in his chest. Sure, some of it was for Ida, but the rest—

Artemis broke him out of his spiralling thoughts with a gentle nudge, “You’re heavier than you look, Grayson. Mind if we get a move on?” 

She’d tried to keep her voice casual, but he could hear the concern in it. The concern she was currently feeling for her team.

Concern he was _also_ feeling for her team. What was happening? Had the explosion broken him??

Dick didn’t bother answering her, but he did start to shuffle forward again.

They skirted around the precariously balanced heap in the middle of the room, rounding it much slower than he would’ve liked. 

When the team came into view, their bright costume colours muted by grey plaster dust, he found himself echoing Artemis’ relieved, breathy intake.

But he didn’t see Ida. Panic quickly ate its way into his chest.

Was she dead? Had he misjudged something? Was she now lying under a chunk of concrete, slowly bleeding out—

Then Superboy turned around, revealing what his wide form had been innocently concealing; Ida, cradled effortlessly in his massive arms.

M’gann was hovering in front of the white-haired woman, checking for a concussion, green finger moving back and forth rhythmically as she asked Ida to follow it.

He was sure that Artemis felt him sag against her in sudden relief—all the pent-up pressure he’d been feeling rushing out of him—but, if she did, she didn’t comment on it.

KF, as if super attuned to the archer’s presence, spun around as soon as the haggard pair came into view. 

“Artemis!” He zipped toward them, the resulting buffet of wind almost knocking Dick over. 

Then the ginger hesitated, rocking wildly on his heels as he looked over his—friend? Girlfriend? Lover? 

Though he was a detective, Dick honestly couldn’t tell what there was between them.

With Miss Martian and Superboy, it’d been an easy assumption to make. With these two, on the other hand…

“Can I?” KF asked softly, and Dick abruptly realized he was likely about to witness something personal. 

_Oh well_. He glared down at his compromised leg. _It’s not like he could just_ walk away.

Artemis nodded quickly, cheeks flooding with colour, and then Wally was practically snatching her out from under the detective. 

He frantically checked her over, fingers ghosting her ribs and the base of her skull as he searched for any evidence of injury.

That, however, meant that Dick was suddenly without support, his traitorous leg collapsing beneath him like a child’s house of cards.

He landed on the floor with a thud, tailbone instantly beginning to ache on impact. Blood welled up from the gash in his pant leg and he bit his tongue to keep from making a sound.

Brought down by a piece of wire. He knew exactly what Bruce would say, could practically hear the older man’s familiar tone.

 _Pathetic_.

“Oh.” KF said, staring down at him perplexedly. “Are you alright?”

“Peachy.” He bit out between gritted teeth, “Just peachy.”

Artemis grumbled something under her breath that sounded a lot like “stupid, useless detectives”, but bent down and helped him up to his feet all the same.

Wally apparently pulled some kind of face that Dick, on Artemis’ opposite side, couldn’t quite see.

Whatever the expression was caused the archer to make an indignant noise, her free hand flailing around until it collided with the speedster’s arm, “Shut up.”

“I didn’t say anything.” There was a smug trill to the ginger’s tone.

“I hate you.”

“Sure, babe.”

Artemis made a growling sound and was probably about to drop Dick in favour of strangling Wally, when Kaldur wisely decided to intervene,

“Were either of you hurt?” His militaristic, straight-to-the-point voice was like a soothing bucket of ice water to Dick’s frazzled mind. “Anything broken?”

Kaldur had gotten off scrape free, likely due to his tough Atlantean skin. Dick remembered reading about it for hours on the batcomputer, his young eyes scanning each detail with mounting curiosity. Could its strength be replicated? Was it genetic? Did he ever—

He realized, too late, that he’d zoned out. Kaldur, Artemis, and Wally were staring at him like they were expecting some kind of answer. 

“…What?”

“Did you hit your head?” The speedster asked skeptically, though not unkindly. “You seem kind of spacey.”

“You should’ve seen him earlier. He was a real basket case then.”

Dick turned a heated glare on Artemis, but didn’t deign to answer her taunt. Instead, he turned back to Kaldur, “What were you saying?”

The Atlantean didn’t look bothered about having to repeat himself. “Are you hurt?”

The response was automatic. “No.”

On his left, where she was still holding him up, the archer shot him a weirdly exasperated look. “Grayson has something sticking out of his leg. And some mild shock.”

He meant to only think it, but then suddenly it was spilling past his lips. “Traitor.”

“I think we all have shock,” KF intoned, showcasing one of his tremoring hands. “We were almost exploded. It’d be weird if we weren’t shocked.”

Were all heroes so dramatic? He resisted the urge to roll his eyes. “That all to say, I’m fine.”

Kaldur pointedly eyed the way Dick was barely holding himself up, even with Artemis’ help. But, before he could say anything, M’gann literally flew into their conversation.

“Ida doesn’t have a concussion, only a few scrapes and bruises. Nothing serious.”

That, at least, was good news. He didn’t think he’d be able to live with himself if Ida had gotten fatally hurt. 

Then the Martian turned to Dick, of all people, and gave him a soft smile. “It probably would’ve been much worse if you hadn’t acted so quickly. You saved her life.”

“Oh.” The detective shuffled his good leg, not entirely sure how to answer that. Even back when he’d been in his teens, running around in neon spandex, he’d never been entirely sure how to react when sobbingly grateful people tried to talk to him. “Thank you?”

“Just take the compliment,” Wally huffed out, though he was smiling too. “And thank you for saving Artemis.”

“He didn’t save me,” The archer protested, grip tightening around Dick’s arm. “There was no ‘saving’.”

“You’re welcome?” Dick phrased in KF’s direction. 

Artemis looked just about ready to slap both of them, consequences of assaulting an officer be darned.

She never got her chance. The ramshackle door abruptly flew open, nearly swinging off its rusted hinges. 

Addams, looking significantly worse for wear, stood in the entrance way. His fellow hodgepodge of various analysts and officers flanked him, guns drawn and eyes wide. 

“What the hell happened?” The ghoulish, slime-ball of a man said in his overly nasal and pretentious voice. What was left of Dick’s flagging tolerance went up in flames, Addams’ very existence being the lighter. 

KF surprised the detective by taking a step forward, arms crossed over his spandex clad chest. “What do you mean, ‘what the hell happened’? The ceiling exploded!” He gestured at the jagged hole above them, “A bomb went off ten feet away from you guys and your only now checking in?”

Though Dick would’ve loved to watch Addams getting laid into by a junior hero, it was clear that Wally’s words were only making the man angrier. Like performing a red ribbon dance routine in front of a bull.

Maybe he really had hit his head during the explosion. That was a weirdly specific analogy. 

Either way, Dick had been subjected to enough of Addams’ temper tantrums to know when the man was about to pop his top. This seemed to be shaping into one such occasion.

“I leave you alone for five minutes and you blow up my crime scene!” Addams—surprise surprise—rounded on Dick, fists clenched tightly at his sides. “Were you trying to sabotage me? Wreck my new position with your fancy little hero friends?”

“I object!” Dick’s mouth still hadn’t caught up with his brain. It almost felt like his brief—albeit horrible—experience with truth serum. “They’re not my friends.”

“Hey,” Artemis stood tall beside him, levelling a glare at Addams, “Grayson might suck, but you can’t go pinning this on him.”

“Wow. Who knew you had such a high opinion of me.” There he went again. Where had his mind-to-mouth filter gone?

But Artemis wasn’t done yet. In fact, it seemed like she was just getting started, “—He didn’t plant the bomb in the ceiling. He certainly didn’t stand outside the door and do fuc- _frick_ all when he heard explosions inside. And he definitely didn’t come in guns-a-blazing just so he could antagonize someone he’s supposed to be on the same side as.”

Dick found himself staring at the archer like he’d never seen her before. She was…defending him? Why? He’d purposefully tried to push them away. Purposefully antagonized them at every given opportunity.

So, again, _why?_

“How about we start this conversation over?” Kaldur interjected into the following stunned silence, filling it with his calm inflection.

Dick, though still staring at Artemis like she was some kind of rare, tropical fish, saw that even Addams looked pacified by the man’s tone.

“I believe my teammates and I were wondering why you weren’t on the scene immediately,” The Atlantean took a step out from the other Young Justice members, raising his hands placatingly, palms facing upward in the universal sign of _'we mean you no harm'_.

Addams signaled for his men to lower their weapons, then began to pick his way delicately across the rubble-strewn floor. He looked out of place in his pristine windbreaker and clean slacks, like something out of a cheesy mafia movie.

“I wasn’t ignoring you,” The man said, coming to a stop in front of Kaldur. He gave Dick a glare, like him having to explain himself was purely the detective’s fault. “Someone ran from the crime scene. They’d holed themselves up, right under our noses, and bolted when forensics got too close.”

“Got too close?” Dick interrupted, mind instantly whirling with possibilities. “How long ago was that?”

Addams flicked a look at one of his associates, like he himself couldn’t be bothered to know the time. 

“About ten or eleven minutes ago, Detective Grayson,” Crooked Teeth, from earlier, answered after staring down at his watch for a moment. “About half our team took off to give chase.”

“Exactly,” Addams said smugly, clicking his fingers together like he had something to be proud of. “We were giving pursuit of a much more compliant witness. This one,” He eyed Ida up and down with a scornful gaze, “wasn’t on our minds.”

“Yes.” Dick struggled to keep his mounting anger off his face. “The compliant one who hid themselves on your crime scene, then ran away.”

KF snorted. “Very compliant. The exact definition of the word.”

Addams let out a huff, plucking angrily at his mop of hair. “We didn’t even know there’d been an explosion. Not until we secured the runner and brought him back.”

That was some awfully convenient timing. He’d have to think about that later, after he thought about all the other pressing things he still had to think about. Like his own actual case.

God. Dick was tired.

He pinched the bridge of his nose, narrowing his eyes as he attempted to focus. There were too many things buzzing in his brain right now. Too much information pinging around. 

Not to mention he was still bleeding from his leg. Oh no, couldn’t forget that.

Maybe he _did_ need a vacation. He imagined himself at some beach resort; counting individual grains of sand, drowning himself in the waves. You know, normal vacay stuff.

KF’s voice broke through his fantasy, “That’s one excuse, but I still only trust you about as far as I could throw you.”

“And he’s got spaghetti arms,” Artemis drawled. “So that’s not very far.”

The speedster grinned at Artemis like she’d just proposed marriage. “Thanks, babe.”

“Anytime, hon.”

Again, just what, exactly, were the details of their relationship?

“Can an ambulance” Conner’s deep voice caused half the room’s occupants to jump.

Most of them, even his own team, had forgotten the super was there.

“Why?” Addams, ever quick to recover, barked at the hulking clone. 

_Idiot_. If it’d been anyone else speaking, Dick would’ve told them to shut up. But, since it was Addams, he almost wanted to see Conner snap the other man like a twig.

Superboy, unfortunately, didn’t seem to be in a man-snapping mood. “Not even my ears can hear internal bleeding,” He gestured down at the woman still cradled in his arms. “She could be dying.”

Ida cringed back against Conner’s chest when all eyes fixed themselves one her. “Sorry,” She squeaked. “I’ll be fine walking home.”

“Look at that, she’s perfectly fine. Right as rain.” Addams gave a grudgingly impressive eyeroll. “Let the woman walk if she wants to walk, I say.”

“No,” Artemis bit out again, that same fire as earlier seeming to burn in her throat. “You’re going to get her on an ambulance, and you’re going to do it now.”

He didn’t look happy about it, but Addams had the good sense to hold his tongue “Call the fire department and bomb squad, too. And get my forensics team in here. You,” He stabbed a finger at a few of them, “and you, secure the perimeter. We don’t want any more unexpected runners.”

“Yes, sir.” 

Only when Addams had stopped bossing his men around did he turn his attention back toward them. He frowned, upper lip pulled up in obvious disgust as he took in their dust covered costumes and various scrapes. “You guys, follow me.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* Is this me updating only a day late? Instead of like half a week??
> 
> Guys. Gals. My dudes. Weddings are _insane_. I have been.....so busy, and I'm not even the one getting married. Is this chapter even in English?? Does it make sense?? Beats me
> 
> Sorry about the shorter chapter. i just can no brain no more
> 
> Anywho, thank you so much for reading!! Comments give my tired husk of a body life. Love you all <3333
> 
> ~ASL


	15. A Dire Development

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick is high of his a$$ from blood loss. that's it. that's the chapter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My beloved peeps, _I am so tired_. I don't even know what this chapter's about. wut r werds

‘Follow me’ turned out to be a difficult order to obey.

With the Young Justice team sporting various bruises and Dick’s accursed limping, they were extremely slow going.

He could tell Addams was getting progressively more annoyed with them, the man’s face that familiar mottled violet. Dick was tempted to go at a snail’s pace, just to spite him.

He and Addams hadn’t exactly started out as enemies, but they also hadn’t been friends. Then again, ‘friends’ weren’t exactly something a ward of the great Bruce Wayne could have.

Not real friends, anyhow.

‘Richard Grayson’ had plenty of people he knew. People he tolerated. A few kids his age who were also forced to attend all the elite’s mind-numbing galas, sipping at champagne they weren’t legally allowed to drink.

He’d left them behind when he graduated from Gotham Academy, all personal ties with any getting immediately severed. 

Not necessarily by choice. But also…yes, completely by choice.

So when Dick had first arrived at the BPD training facility, he had no intention of making friends. That, and he’d just gone through his first true fallout with Bruce. A fallout both of them had known there was no coming back from.

The things that had been shouted at each other across one of Gotham’s windswept rooftops, the actions the oldest Wayne had taken…

He fingered his cheek absently as they walked towards the scene of the crime, remembering the weighted bruise that had rested on his skin for weeks afterwards. It’d been finger shaped and stung more than any blow he’d ever received. 

There was just no coming back from that. Not in Dick’s books.

Needless to say, the soon-to-be-detective hadn’t been in the best headspace when he’d showed up for his first day of training. It hadn’t helped that the rest of his fellow trainees were already halfway through their semester, having already bonded over their horrible coaches and sketchy cafeteria food.

Training had honestly been a blur to Dick, as things tended to be when there was no one around to pull him out of his head. 

Usually that task would be delegated—when Bruce was busy (which he often was)—to Alfred, who would call upon the late-night magic of milk, cookies, and good conversation. But there’d been no British butler in his then-newfound apartment, only some peeling paint and a saggy bottomed couch. 

So Dick and his one-track mind had thrown themselves into his newfound career, working his way to the top of his class, to the top of the academy; not caring enough to sugar-coat his rapid ascension.

And then he’d graduated, arriving one overcast Bludhaven morning to Commissioner Griffin’s precinct. She’d immediately yanked him out of his hazy thoughts and put him to work, earning his loyalty and respect in the process.

His rise to the top certainly hadn’t earned him any friends, and, at the time, Dick hadn’t even thought he wanted them. But, as he allowed Artemis to carry him down the darkened hall….the team pressing up against them on either side….

He thought, perhaps, he might.

Addams was only the first example of many who believed he’d paid his way to the top, and Dick refused to stoop low enough to correct him. 

The detective had learned from experience that denying rumours didn’t put them down. Interacting only inflamed the media, gave them the ammunition they needed to carry the story even further. 

Finally, their raggedy group turned around the final corner, the pain in his leg faded to a dull ache as he took in the abrupt change of the bar room around them.

The bodies had (fortunately) been covered, but their rotten stench still mixed with the already putrid scent of the filth around them. It also looked like most of the blood had been mopped up, but the warped boards were still sticky under their feet.

To his right, someone let out a hoarse sob. 

He turned, fast as his stiff neck would allow, just in time to see Ida double over and add the contents of her stomach to the deplorable floor.

“Oh, gross,” Addams muttered, diverting his gaze away as if the sight of dead bodies bothered him less than vomit. “Somebody! Somebody come clean this up!”

Dick was tempted to throttle him. If he hadn’t been entirely relying on Artemis for bodily support, he might’ve ended his ‘no killing’ streak right then and there.

An annoyed looking, nondescript woman with the word _forensics_ stamped across her windbreaker wandered over, fixing their entire assembly with a detached stare. “Yes, sir?”

Addams heaved a sigh, as if this interaction alone was the greatest inconvenience of his life—a life Dick was getting all the more ready to cut short. “Call an ambulance, will you? Turns out our witness will be in need of one.”

The forensics woman grumbled but pulled out a phone, holding it to her ear and murmuring a series of commands into it.

“Well,” Addams clapped his hands together. “This was a flaming disaster. Same time next week?”

Dick dodged the other man’s sarcasm entirely. “Where’s the other witness? The one who ran?”

Addams eyes narrowed to near slits. “That, my dear detective, is absolutely not your problem. The only reason your little precinct even got involved is because _this_ one," He pointed a crooked finger at Ida, “wouldn’t talk unless her sugar daddy was around.”

To his surprise, their team of ragged heroes let out various protests at this, but Addams ignored them entirely,

“Since she’s now on her way to the hospital, I suggest you and your costumed friends turn yourselves around and march right back out that door.”

Dick didn’t care if the man dragged his name through the mud; it was nothing he hadn’t heard before. But when he saw Ida flinch at the words ‘sugar daddy’, her head of white hair lowering in shame, the final threads of his already very thin patience snapped.

“No, you listen to me, we’re not leaving until Ida is safe on an ambulance. Or just safe away from you, we’re not too picky.” He felt his age-old Robin smile slipping onto his face: cold, glittering, and achingly familiar. His voice lowered till it was barely a whisper, “And if you so much as look at her ever again, I will personally inform the higher ups about your absolute negligence today and pull in every favour I am owed to get you fired. Do you understand?”

Addams just blinked his watery eyes, mouth forming a simple ‘o’ shape. It made the man look—if possible—even stupider. 

Dick disentangled himself from Artemis and took a single step forward on his good leg, ignoring the blood dripping from his other one.

The action probably looked more wobbly than threatening, but he summoned up the best glare in his arsenal and zeroed in on Addams.

His tone crackled like ice when he spoke, an effect he usually reserved only for the scourge of Gotham’s alleys. “ _Do you understand_?” 

He imagined it would be somewhat amusing for a passerby to see him, a regrettably small bleeding midget, facing down a six-foot-manchild.

Addams, however, did not look at all amused. In fact, he barely managed to close his mouth fully before nodding and bolting away.

Soon as he was out of sight, Dick turned his attention to the issue at hand; the fact that was he was no longer leaning on Artemis. 

He scrubbed the heel of his hand over tired eyes. In his steadily on-setting delirium, he'd temporarily forgotten his Grayson persona was supposed to be bland as flax bread. Forgettable; boring. Predictable.

 _Oops_. 

Before he could even think of an explanation, words were spilling past his lips. “That proves it. There’s clearly no way to mail a person straight to hell, otherwise Addams would already be there.” Then he squinted speculatively down at the floor as it seemed to rush up to meet him. “I think I’m going to fall.” 

There was a flash, followed by the buffet of lightning-laced wind, then KF was heaving Dick upwards again. 

The speedster slung an arm around the detective’s waist, fixing him with an ear-to-ear smile, “Looked like you could use a hand there, buddy.” The ginger’s eyes were glittering with undisguised amusement behind his goggles.

“Eat screws and die.” Dick snapped back, internally cussing out his weak, lily-livered leg.

Of course the one time he gets seriously hurt on the job, these idiots were around to witness it.

(He pointedly ignored all the other times he’d gotten injured while working: nicked just below the ribs; a twisted ankle as he vaulted over a fence; yesterday, when he’d been grazed by a bullet.)

Time really flew when your life was being threatened.

“Aw, did little Grayson skip his medication? Is he having a little tantrum?” Artemis’ voice was oddly light, borderline teasing. 

_Teasing_. 

When had that happened?

He glared at her from under KF’s blindingly yellow shoulder. “I hate you.” 

This lack of brain-to-mouth filter would really be the death of him.

Wally laughed beside him, as if there’d been something funny about Dick’s proclamation. “Sure you do.”

There it was; the sound of a camel’s back breaking horrifically under the weight of that final straw. 

Wasn’t that the expression? The straw that broke the camel's back? He blinked once, wondering if his vision was flickering or if it was just the bar’s seedy lighting. Then a bulb blew out above them, and he thought perhaps it was a mixture of both.

Dick was seconds away from tearing the speedster apart, when a sharp inhale caused him to pause. Steadying himself, he pulled up onto his tiptoes (a factoid he would take to his stone-cold grave) and peered around KF.

It was Ida. The woman was trembling, dust-covered arms wrapped round her torso as if she were trying to manually keep herself together.

Straightening as much as his injured leg would allow, he quickly followed her line of sight to….

Addams had wandered over to a group of cops, all standing around a handcuffed man kneeling on the floor, one of the officer’s guns pressed to the back of his head. 

Dick narrowed his eyes, glancing between Ida, the man, and back again. 

There didn’t appear to be any immediate threat. The stark terror in her eyes seemed unwarranted, something off about how the woman was slowly listing to the side. 

The junior Justice League seemed to catch on to the detective’s sudden silence, their banter cutting off as they joined him in studying Ida. 

It looked like their witnesses’ knees were seconds away from buckling, her entire body trembling and swaying. She let out a whimper, fingers digging into her arms.

Something was definitely not right. Sure, seeing a group of officers pointing a gun at someone’s head was likely terrifying, but it usually wouldn’t warrant such a strong reaction. 

“What?” Dick asked slowly, withholding a frustrating curse at not being able to go to her. He tried to keep his voice soft, hoping that would be enough. “What’s wrong?”

M’gann surprised him by doing what he couldn’t. She sidled up to the woman’s side, slipping a hesitant arm around her waist. 

“Are you hurting?” The Martian asked softly, taking the majority of Ida’s weight. “Is there anything we can do?”

Ida’s fingers trembled as she stretched one out toward the group of officers, all of whom were towering over the downed man. 

Her eyes were too wide for her gaunt face. “T-that’s—that’s him.” The previously dulce tone dropped to a mere whisper. “He’s right there.”

M’gann glanced over her shoulder, shooting her teammates a confused look.

Beside the detective, Wally shrugged, face pulled into a concerned grimace beneath his cowl. 

But the dots were quickly connecting themselves behind Dick’s eyes, the final pieces of this strange puzzle sliding into place. 

“Miss Martian.” He barely recognized his own voice. “Take her outside. Take her outside now.”

The green hero blinked at him, taken aback by the severity of his tone. “What?”

Dick motioned to the door, then down at Ida’s crumpling form, hoping a physical action would help the Martian understand. “Get her outside.”

“Do it,” Kaldur’s voice was steady as always, apparently carrying just the authoritative note M’gann needed to hear. “Do as he says.”

Though she still appeared confused, the hero nodded and gently led their witness towards the door, muttering soft words of encouragement in her ear as they went.

Dick wanted nothing more than to push himself out of Wally’s grasp and follow. To help Ida as best he could.

The woman had obviously reacted strongly to the man on the floor—and Dick knew from personal experience how hard it could be facing the broker of one’s traumatic experience.

It was infuriating, knowing exactly what should be done to comfort her and not being able to _do it_. 

If he’d ever had a therapist, he was certain they’d have diagnosed him with some minor control issues by now. Probably stemming from uncontrollable childhood loss and tragedy and etc etc etc.

It wasn’t that Dick thought therapists were silly, or that diagnosing your problems was a waste of time. More so that he, specifically, could never engage in something that open. Something that would put all his identities at risk.

What would he say? _I’m a controversial vigilante that’s been operating since I was nine years old, beating up bad guys in back alleys and carrying the weight of my insurmountable daddy issues on my caped shoulders_.

He had the sneaking suspicion such a story would outweigh any patient confidentiality clauses. 

So therapy remained a no-go.

Dick blinked back into reality, realizing that he’d just completely disconnected from the situation at hand. One in which Wally was escorting him towards the group of officers, moving at a slow but steady pace.

The zoning out was likely due to the combined blood loss and pain finally catching up to him. Though the impalement wasn’t too bad, and definitely not enough to kill him. 

In fact, it hadn’t even hit anywhere near his femoral artery. 

Things were looking up.

The one side of his brain still functioning pondered this revelation calculatedly, wondering how long he could keep pushing without passing out. The other half just wanted to lie down and pretend to be dead.

What a wonderfully functional human being he was.

Addams had the gall to glare at him when they approached, his watery grey eyes looking ever so grey and…….…watery. 

Maybe the blood loss was affecting him more than he’d thought. 

“Where’s your witness?” The man barked, the sound sending thrills of pain lancing through Dick’s cranium. 

He was tempted to shush Addams, but couldn’t find the energy within himself to do it.

“Where’s your witness?” KF shot back, eyeing Addams with open contempt. 

The pale man merely raised a hairy eyebrow in response. “Right here,” He pointed down at the restrained man on the floor, who was glaring up them with brilliant yellow eyes and slitted, vertical pupils.

Dick felt like those last few details were important, put couldn’t quite put his finger on why.

“Oh.” The speedster muttered, unaware of the detective’s ongoing internal crisis. “Cool.”

Dick looked at where Addams was still gesturing to, mentally willing the cobwebs from the corner of his mind.

 _Ah_. Now he remembered. This wasn’t good at all. 

He recognized the man in front of him, had apprehended the villain on multiple occasions while operating as Robin.

 _Copperhead_. A mutant type and renowned assassin, one who had a reputation for morphing into a snake-like humanoid and quite literally tearing his victims apart.

His mind might be moving a little slower than usual, but it could still connect the remaining problem before him.

That wasn’t a witness; that was their killer.

Well. Shoot.

Then his brain suddenly quit functioning properly altogether, an extremely sobering thought slowly working its way into his numbed consciousness. 

...The case from yesterday, in which multiple characters involved in narcotics dealing were slaughtered, all by a low paying and criminally tied hitman. A hitman that tried to leave no witnesses in their wake. There was a parallel starting to form.

He pressed a finger to his temple, trying to alleviate the pressure in his battered head.

The two cases were nigh on identical, down to the last detail; both hitmen had waited after their killings, waited for……for what? 

What was it both Sniper (and now Copperhead) had been waiting for?

His tired mind couldn’t find the final puzzle piece, but the rest of the narrative was finally starting to make sense.

 _The two cases were connected_.

He sighed, rubbing a plaster covered hand over his tired eyes. Could things ever just be easy for him? Could he ever just work a simple homicide case?

“Care to share with the rest of the class, Grayson?” Artemis’ voice snapped him out of his spiralling, her tone less frigid than ever before. She was looking down at him, eyebrows cinched and lips pulled into a frown.

Dick withheld the urge to curl up and sleep. To just lie there and finally, finally rest. “Not here. I don’t want to have to repeat myself.” He stared up at Addams, hoping his gaze portrayed how absolutely ready he was to commit murder. “We’re taking this witness back to the precinct. Escort him to my squad car.”

He had to bring this to Griffins immediately,

Things had just gotten a whole lot more complicated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> What's this?? Another chapter in which our favourite detective continues to _bleed out_??? Wack.
> 
> Also, I tried to get this chapter's randomness to reflect his mental state. Like he just survived a bomb. He is literally impaled in the leg. He could have a head injury. Things are c r a z y. Hope it worked :/
> 
> Thanks for reading! I absolutely adore all your kind comments!! Some of you have some pretty interesting theories that have me like 👀👀
> 
> Have a great rest of your week! Love you all <333
> 
> ~ASL


	16. A Detective Gets Help (Finally)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dick hurty hurt and then he get fixy fixed

As soon as Dick said they were taking the witness, the surrounding officers exploded.

Angry shouts whizzed through the air like tiny fighter planes, fists brandished and egos in full swing as the men began to protest.

Even the junior heroes were looking at him askance, KF going so far as to press the back of his hand to Dick’s forehead.

“You feeling alright? Sure you’re not running a fever?”

“I’m fine.” He slapped the hand away, bristling as much as his injury would permit. “Now bring me outside, we have to make sure Ida’s okay.” He warbled, his next word making him want to claw out his own tongue, “…please.”

One look at Addams, and he knew the oily man would comply with his request, no matter how mad it made his little underlings. Apparently, the threat of reporting his actions to the higher ups had done some serious damage.

Later, the on-scene investigator might have something else to say; but right now he still feared Dick enough not to question things.

KF had the gall to smile and mutter, “If you say so, little man.” 

Dick was going to flay this speedster alive.

He seethed in silence as they made their way towards the door, having no choice but to bide his time. Later, when he wasn’t using KF as a crutch, he’d have to commit his first ever homicide.

Stepping through the bar doors felt like a slice of heaven.

The acrid stink of clingy cigarettes and awful liquor faded behind them, giving way to the still-not-so-pleasant-but-better-than-rotting-dead-bodies stench of the city.

The clouds had swirled above, blocking out the sun, and it looked as if it might rain later. The damp scent of it carried on the chill wind, tempting Dick to just stand there and breathe it in until the iron tang of blood was no longer caught in his nose.

The detective knew from experience that it would never really leave. It was the kind of smell that simply lingered. Even when one was standing in the middle of a candle aisle, there'd still be the tinge of blood in their nose.

It would linger forever, just like a memory. _Snapped bones. A red-stained mouth_ \--

He yanked himself out of his thoughts, quickly pulling back into the world around him.

Ida was outside standing next to the door, arms wrapped around her chest as she shuddered.

Addams never had gotten her that shock blanket.

Miss Martian, who’d escorted the woman out earlier, was gently rubbing circles into Ida’s back. She didn’t even glance up at them when they exited the bar, too intent on comforting the witness.

Letting out a few choice curses under his breath that caused to Wally side-eyeball him concernedly, he shucked off his dust covered uniform jacket and got Miss Martian’s one-track attention.

He figured she’d be the least likely to comment on his behaviour, and his theory proved correct when she wordlessly took the jacket from his outstretched fingers.

Ida hesitated a second too long before taking it, makeup smeared eyes wide when they met Dick’s.

He merely shrugged in response, subconsciously leaning into the speedster’s warm body at his side. “We can’t have you catching cold now, can we?” There was smile on his lips, and he knew she saw it.

“R-right,” Her voice trembled in time with the shivers wracking her body, unsteady arms slipping the jacket over her shoulders.

He noted that it nearly fit her petite frame perfectly—except for where it sagged a bit on her arms and shoulders—and frowned.

He wasn’t _that_ small. Was he?

Fortunately, he was saved having to contemplate further by the sound of oncoming sirens, the screech of an ambulance wailing in the nearby streets.

Then it raced around a corner, hugging a little too closely to the sidewalk and startling a few cursing pedestrians.

It reamed to a stop in front of them, EMTs hopping out and looking intent, only for them to pause when they caught sight of the heroes.

Spotting Justice League members in Bludhaven, due to its proximity to Gotham, was extremely rare. It was practically Gotham’s city -sister, which meant that Batman’s unwavering protection partially extended to it as well.

Meaning, heroes usually avoided it at all costs. The Bat was nothing if not territorial.

Fortunately, it didn’t take long for the paramedics to pick their jaws up off the sidewalk and hurry towards Grayson.

“Lie down, sir, we’ll take it from here.” A particularly enthusiastic woman grabbed his wrist, likely trying to get a good read on his pulse.

He snatched his hand back, “I’m fine. It’s the lady over there who needs help.”

Both emergency responders looked at him skeptically, eyeing him up and down with particular focus on his right leg.

Ah, right. His impalement.

“She’s in shock,” Dick motioned at Ida again. “She just survived an explosion and could possibly have internal complications. I’ll be fine."

He felt so much as heard KF snort in disbelief, but decided to ignore it for now. The speedster could be dealt with later, when he had coordination and knives and ample time to hide a body.

When the EMTs still didn’t back off, he yanked out his badge and flashed its metallic surface at them.

The woman glared at it, but finally, _finally_ went with her male co-worker over to Ida. They motioned Miss Martian back, trying—and failing—not to stare too hard at her green skin.

“Can you tell me what your name is?” The woman shone a light into one of Ida’s eyes, watching carefully as she waved it back and forth.

“I-Ida. My name’s Ida.”

“Good, sweetie. I’m going to have to touch you now.” The EMT carefully felt around the base of their witnesses’ neck, looking relieved by what she did, or didn’t, find there. “She doesn’t have any swelling. We’re good to move.”

“Copy that.” Her and her partner helped Ida onto the stretcher, getting her situated quickly and efficiently.

M’gann, now without anyone to care for, moved to Conner’s side. “I already checked for a concussion and spinal injury,” She crossed her arms over her chest, muttering petulantly, “They didn’t have to do it again.”

Superboy gently nudged her shoulder, expression lighter than Dick had ever seen it. “You did good. It’s their job to check.”

Ida motioned of them to stop in front of the detective, completely ignoring the twin frowns she got from both paramedics.

“Here,” She moved to take his dusty jacket from her shoulders, but he shook his head quickly.

“No, you keep it.” He thought he smiled at her, but his mind was getting increasingly muddled with each passing second. “It’ll give me an excuse to visit."

Ida beamed at him, eyes wet with unshed tears. Her voice was soft when she spoke. “Thanks, Detective Grayson.”

“Dick.”

She seemed confused by his response, but the EMT had apparently hit her limit of unwilling patients for the day.

“Come on, sweetie, we’ve got to get you moving.”

A brief flash of panic worked its way over Ida’s face as she was wheeled away. She tried to twist around, but they were already loading her into the back of the ambulance.

Dick made a move to step forward, fully intent on accompanying her further, but evidently he wasn’t the only one who’d seen the other woman’s fear.

Miss Martian pulled away from her boyfriend’s side. “Wait, I’m going with you! She’s an extremely important witness and shouldn’t be left alone!”

He resisted the urge to sag against Wally in relief. There’s no way Dick could’ve properly protected Ida with the state he was in. M’gann would do a much better job of things. 

The EMT opened her mouth to protest, but seemed to think twice about it when she saw M’gann’s determined expression. “Alright. You can come, but only family are allowed in the check up room.” She eyed her green skin pointedly, “And I don’ think you’re family.

The Martian saluted merrily before following them into the back of the still-flashing vehicle, “Yes, ma’am.”

As soon as the pair were inside and the doors slammed closed, the ambulance peeled away from the curb, sirens wailing. Dick cringed as the sound bounced around inside his skull.

Mere seconds after the emergency vehicle had pulled away, Addams poked his head out of the bar’s shabby door. The man had obviously been waiting for Ida to leave before making his entrance, “Do you want me to bring the witness out now?”

The detective opened his mouth to answer, only to feel his legs give out on him completely.

One second they were semi-functioning, only trembling a little bit, and the next they were completely betraying him.

KF stopped him before he could get too far, gently lowering Dick the rest of the way to the dirty sidewalk.

“You are an absolute idiot,” He heard Artemis state, though she was already bending down to look at him. “I knew you should’ve gone in the ambulance.”

“I’ll be—” He cut himself off with a grunt when she poked at the wound, raising an eyebrow at his eloquent response.

“If you say fine one more time, I will personally escort you to the nearest nurses’ office.”

He hissed at her, but couldn’t find the energy within himself to argue. Glaring didn’t take much out of him though, so Dick gladly stared her down.

“Yeah, yeah.” She helped Wally heave the detective back up to his feet, now being completely supported by them. “Use your angry eyes all you want, we’re following Ida to the hospital right now. You need serious medical attention."

“I could run him there,” KF suggested, earning himself a bat glare for the comment. “He’s not that heavy.”

“No,” Dick said slowly, carefully enunciating so as not to slur his words. “We have to get Copper—the witness, to Griffin ASAP. Someone there can…can patch me up.”

“Yeah?” Conner stared down at him condescendingly. It was strange, seeing Superman’s usually cavalier face fixed into such a hostile look. “You’re no good to us if you pass out.”

“Then I won’t pass out,” Dick spat at the super, annoyed at how much effort it took to get the words passed his lips. “Trust me.”

Superboy seemed satisfied by his answer, and it took the detective a couple seconds to realize he’d just been goaded into strengthening himself. By Conner Kent, no less.

As if that wasn’t humiliating enough, the hulking man then bent down and picked him up, holding Dick in his arms like he was some kind of fatigued damsel.

It would be dumb to argue, especially when he couldn’t even walk, but that didn’t stop Dick from glaring at anyone who dared look at him too long.

“Take a picture,” He told the speedster bitingly when he caught him staring, an amused expression twisting his freckled face. “It’ll last longer.”

“Okay, we get it. You’re grumpy.” Artemis rolled her eyes, gesturing towards the detective’s squad vehicle. “Stick him in the car. Kaldur and Addams should be back with the witness any minute now.”

Loading everyone into the cruiser, with the added addition of a hissing, bristling witness (who was also a skilled assassin, though Dick was the only one who knew it), proved to be much more difficult task than the heroes had previously thought.

Artemis sat in the driver’s seat, looking a little too smug about it for Dick’s taste, while Kaldur made himself comfortable on the passenger’s side.

Conner had plopped his detective doll—which is what Dick felt like; some kind of life-sized toy. He absolutely _hated_ it—behind Kaldur, while he sat in the middle. It seemed the super’s goal was to separate the witness and Dick as much as possible.

Probably a wise choice, given Dick’s current state of mind.

Wally delegated to run behind them after realizing there wasn’t enough room. Artemis had suggested stowing the speedster in the trunk, but Dick couldn’t tell if she’d been kidding or not.

Their relationship was weird enough when he wasn’t half-loopy.

And then their rag tag bunch was off, Artemis prodding him for directions every couple of turns. Dick wasn’t sure if she actually didn’t know where she was going or if the archer was just trying to keep him conscious.

He much preferred the former, though he did feel oddly warm at the thought of someone…caring like that.

Or, maybe, that was just the blood loss talking.

For some reason, he really, really hoped it wasn't.

...oooOOO-BREAK-OOOooo... 

There had been few moments in life when Dick felt true humiliation.

Generally, he possessed a sense of confidence that kept feelings like ‘embarrassment’ or ‘shame’ far away from his consciousness.

That being said, getting bridal carried through the Bludhaven police precinct with an escort of spandex-ed heroes was definitely one such moment.

In fact, if Dick hadn’t been half out of his mind, he’s likely would’ve melted from the sheer horribleness of it all.

However, with Artemis leading the way and Copperhead restrained at her side, looking extremely put-out about it, there wasn’t any time for melting.

The archer stopped in front of the commissioner’s office, quickly glancing over her shoulder as if making sure the rest of her team were still with her. Then she knocked, the sound obnoxiously loud in Dick’s ears.

No less then three seconds later and the door was swinging open, revealing the stoic face of Commissioner Griffin.

Her brows flew up in surprise at the sight of Artemis and Copperhead, only to lower again when her gaze landed on the prone detective in Superboy’s arms.

Without speaking, she stepped aside, watching silently as their strange party filed in.

Before she closed the door behind them, the commissioner sent a menacing glare at the officers outside. Most of them were milling about, obviously perking their ears for a stray tidbit of gossip.

“As you were.” Her voice was smooth, but the underlying threat was still definitely there. It was an order, no doubt about it. 

Dick couldn’t really blame them. If one of his coworkers was carried in by a mainstream superhero, he’d want to know what the scoop was too.

Griffin didn’t look at them again until she was seated behind her desk, fingers steepled in an annoyingly effective power pose. “Imagine my surprise, Detective Grayson, when I heard about a recent bombing in the very same part of town you were called to.”

__Her tone was frigid, but Dick could read the concerned pull of her lips. The tightening of the skin around her eyes. She was worried._ _

__He’d grown up with Bruce Wayne, after all. That in itself was practically a master class in gauging reluctant emotions._ _

“And,” The commissioner pressed on, “Imagine my astoundment when I got a call that an ambulance was soon after dispatched to the scene. That all I could hear was your name on the radio.” Her eyes were practically boring holes into his skull now, “Just. _Imagine_.”

__KF whistled low under his breath and Dick couldn’t help but agree. He’d forgotten how angry Griffin could look when she was 'feeling'._ _

__Repressing a groan, he tried to sit up in Superboy’s grasp, only to have a wave of black obscure his vision for a moment. He pressed a hand to his temple, waiting for it to pass.  
__

__“My apologies,” The detective muttered as soon as he could see again. “I should’ve called but we were just a little…” Again, black filled his vision and he resisted the urge to rub it away. “Busy.”_ _

__“Clearly.” The commissioner said, but he could already hear the lilt in her voice that indicated forgiveness. “Now why the hell are you not riding in the back of that ambulance right now?”_ _

__“That’s what we said, Commissioner.” Aqualad held out a hand, as if to placate her. Dick wanted to tell him that Griffin was more likely to bite the limb off than be calmed by it, but he couldn’t find the energy to say it. “However, Detective Grayson was most insistent.”_ _

__“Don’t talk ‘bout me like I’m not here,” Dick snapped at them, wishing he didn’t sound so out of it. “I’ll be fine.”_ _

__He did not like the mutual look Griffin and Kaldur exchanged, both of them seeming overly exasperated._ _

__Overly, right? He really would be fine. Dick had been inflicted with worse injuries since he was a child; this was nothing he couldn’t handle._ _

__His vision flickered as if in protest of his thought process, but he steadfastly ignored it._ _

__“Then you won’t mind me calling in our resident Frank, will you?” Griffin’s hand was already moving to the intercom system on her desk. She’d obviously meant that as a rhetorical question._ _

__“Be my guest,” He answered, even though the commissioner was already speaking into the small mike._ _

__Dick wasn’t sure what she said—maybe he’d blacked out again? But the door was suddenly flying open, Frank himself barging in with all the grace of a six-legged elephant._ _

__Frank was one of the precinct’s more senior officers, the one who'd patched Dick's injury the day before. Apparently, he’d gone through some form of medical school about…. a hundred years ago? Dick wasn’t sure, but the man certainly looked old enough to have frolicked with the dinosaurs._ _

__“Where’s the bastard?!” The man slammed the door shut, immediately scanning the room. Upon sighting Dick, he stomped forward, massive eyebrows lowered over storm cloud eyes._ _

__“Hey,” Dick answered, giving a half-hearted wave._ _

__He’d been hoping to dissolve some of the tension, but his action only made Frank look even more upset._ _

__“I can’t believe ya!” The stout man motioned for Superboy to set Dick down in a nearby chair. Conner did so, appearing mildly amused by this whole situation. “Yer going’ta get yerself killed, lad.”_ _

__Frank pulled a compact first aid kit out of thin air, or at least it seemed that way to Dick._ _

__“How was I supposed to know a piece of shrapnel was going to impale me.” He crossed his arms, scowling down at his bloody thigh. “Stupid ceiling.”_ _

__“Whas’at?” The larger man knelt in front of him, staring at the wound. He relaxed slightly when he surveyed the injury, eyes narrowing in an assessing way that offset his teddy-bear mannerisms. “You stupid git. At least it didn’t hit the femoral artery.”_ _

__“That’s what I said!” Dick crowed to the room, shooting the spectating heroes a reproachful look._ _

__From behind her desk, he thought he saw Griffin face-palm._ _

__“It’s not as bad as it looks,” The ex-medical worker gently felt around the wound. “He’ll need some stitches and losing this much blood’s bound to make him a wee woozy, but he’s a cheeky blighter. Nothin’ short of beheadin’ could get this tyke in the grave.”_ _

__Dick frowned, as there were likely plenty of things beside ‘beheadin’ that would 'get him in the grave' (boredom, for starters), but he wisely decided to keep his peace._ _

__Now that the rest of the room knew he wasn’t about to drop dead, which was what he’d been telling them this whole time, the commissioner addressed the wanted criminal in the room._ _

__“How kind of you to join us. I assume, since this likely isn’t your first run-in with the law, that you already know your rights and legalities?”_ _

__The hitman merely bared his teeth in response, a sinister hissing sound escaping from deep within his throat._ _

__“Right then.” The commissioner rose, emanating steady power and presence with every smooth shift of muscle. She leaned forward against her desk, palms flat on its scarred surface. “Care to explain why you’re here? Or must I ask my foolhardy detective?”_ _

The reptilian man seemed to find this amusing. His grin was mocking, full of too-sharp teeth and a flicking tongue. “Don’t bluff me, woman. Your little celebrity _pet project_ ,” He spat the words, like they’d burned his mouth. “Hasss no idea what’ss happening in the city around him.”

__Dick winced as Frank’s hurried hands cut away at the jagged fabric of his pants, the small medical scissors clicking in the ensuing silence._ _

__He tried to focus on the criminal before them, knowing Frank would next be going for the shrapnel still sticking out of his leg._ _

__Narrowing his eyes, he banished the flickering darkness from his vision with sheer force of will._ _

__Griffin looked unimpressed by Copperhead’s pronouncement; one immaculate eyebrow raised in skepticism, “Indeed.” Then she swivelled away, taking her attention from the hitman as if he were no more than an uninteresting moth dodging a lamp bulb. “Aqualad, please fill me in on the situation immediately. Spare no detail.”_ _

__“Yes ma’am,” The Atlantean hid the beginning of a small smile before continuing._ _

__And he certainly did spare no detail. From the number of bodies on the bar floor to the exact time of the explosion; Kaldur recounted it all word for word, not breaking character once as he did._ _

__It would’ve almost been impressive if Dick hadn’t been clenching his hands, knuckles white against the chair as Frank painstakingly stitched his gaping gash together._ _

__The detective was doing his best not to get de-railed from Aqualad’s narrative, but it was a difficult task. Especially with the dripping piece of twisted metal—which had only recently been parted from his thigh—lying on the chair beside him._ _

__It was much smaller than he’d expected. A fact that was both simultaneously a great relief and rather annoying._ _

If Dick was going to be impaled, he wanted to be _impaled _. Not pricked by a mere shard.__

____

(A small part of him realized that this was, perhaps, a very illogical train of thought, but he disregarded it for the moment).

____

“—it was Dick who recognized the man and said we were to take him in immediately. Addams didn’t have much room to disagree. We then ensured our original witness was safely escorted to immediate medical aid, which is why Miss Martian is currently not with us.” Kaldur gave Copperhead a curious look, like he couldn’t understand how the man was worth all this. “So here we are.”

____

“I always did hate that slimy little man,” Frank muttered as he inserted the needle again, prompting Dick to clamp his teeth together. “Addams. Now there’s a balmy bitc—”

____

“ _Thank you_ , Officer McGilvery, for the input, but let’s try not to sully the name of our fellow law enforcers.” Griffin’s voice was stern, but her eyes shone with unspoken amusement. “And thank you, Aqualad, for your account. It’s certainly good to know all the—" She glared pointedly at Dick, “—details.”

____

Mm. Dick knew that look; he would definitely be receiving a lecture later.

____

To his left, he saw the uncharacteristically quiet Artemis and Wally exchange eye contact, a silent conversation being spoken with their stares.

____

Then, with a nod from the archer, KF stepped forward and politely cocked his head in Griffin’s direction,

____

“I mean no disrespect, commissioner, but you really shouldn’t take this out on Detective Grayson.” The speedster twitched when her weighted stare was suddenly fixed on him, but he pushed through. “In his defense, he really put Addams in his place, and—”

____

Artemis, as if sensing KF was about to run himself into the conversational ground, moved up beside him. “What my teammate is _trying_ to say is, Grayson really advocated for Ida. He also,” Here her lip curled back, as if disgusted by what she was about to do, “Saved her and I. He pushed us out of the way, and that’s how he ended up getting injured.”

____

Dick did not like the look on Griffin’s face one bit. To the casual observer it might seem like a sociable smile, but he recognized her smug, self-congratulatory smirk for what it was.

____

_Had she…..planned this?_ _Whatever_ this _was?_

____

The commissioner held up a hand, effectively cutting of the archer’s burgeoning tirade. “I don’t blame Detective Grayson, though I’m sure he appreciates you sticking up for him.” Again, that smug little grin. Just what was she playing at? “I am merely distressed that he refused aid. Again.”

____

“He didn’t refuse everything,” Superboy broke his unofficial silence. “He let me carry him up here.”

____

____Griffin fixed the clone with an appraising look, “I suppose you are correct in that, Superboy.” Then she glared at Dick again, “Though I have no doubt he only accepted because he could no longer physically hold himself up.”_ _ _ _

____

____The detective tried for a charming grin, but it likely resembled a grimace instead. “Guilty as charged.”_ _ _ _

____

____She rolled her eyes, but Dick saw the subtle twitch of her lips into a genuine smile. “We will have to discuss your behaviour later.”_ _ _ _

____

____His chances of getting a sternly worded lecture were slowly diminishing. And, if he managed to walk out of here on his own two legs, maybe he could get out of one completely—_ _ _ _

____

____“Right, lad.” Frank finished with his suturing, gently dabbing the now-stitched wound with an antibacterial swab. “All better. Just take it easy the next few days, and ya should be right as a rain barrel. I’m surprised you were allowed into the field at all, what with that gun graze you’ve got an yer arm.”_ _ _ _

____

____Well. There went all hope of escaping a lecture. If anything, Frank had just inadvertently made the situation worse._ _ _ _

____

____Dick quickly glanced up at the commissioner and— _yeah_ , he was dead. The woman was staring at Frank so intently he was surprised the man didn’t burst into flames._ _ _ _

____

____“His…what.” Griffin leaned forward, an actual chill filling the room. Or maybe it was just Dick’s nerves. With his survival instincts going haywire, he really couldn’t tell._ _ _ _

____

____Frank didn’t even bother taking his eyes off the first aid kit, where he was systematically re-organizing the leftover gauze. “That there gun graze, from the Sniper fellow just yesterday. I fixed it up good, but I’m surprised you cleared ‘im for active duty so soon after.”_ _ _ _

____

____Griffin’s presence seemed to silently expand as she smiled, the expression a frigid approximation of its actual meaning. “Oh. Curiouser and curiouser.”_ _ _ _

____

____The older officer finally seemed to catch on to the situation at hand. He looked up at the commissioner, eyes widening as he took in her stance. “Ah. I take it then that he didn’t…tell you…”_ _ _ _

____

____“Frank, dear,” Griffins now resembled a crouching lioness, all tact and grace until the moment of kill presented itself. And Dick had no doubt over who she’d pounce for when the time came. “Would you please escort our lovely guest to one of our more secure holding cells. I need to have a personal discussion with our mutual friend here."_ _ _ _

____

____Dick was a dead man walking._ _ _ _

____

____(Technically sitting, but that was besides the point)._ _ _ _

____

____Frank shot the detective a quick frown, an apology clearly resting in the folds of his old face. Dick reassured the man with a smile, one that didn’t quite reach his eyes._ _ _ _

____

____The officer escorted a bored looking Copperhead out, the reptilian man hissing as he was manhandled through the door._ _ _ _

____

____Then Frank was gone, leaving Dick and the team alone with an extremely vengeful commissioner._ _ _ _

____

____Call him dramatic, but It didn’t look like any of them would be making it out alive._ _ _ _

____

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I LIVE!!!!!!!!!!!!!!
> 
> Seriously tho, high school starting up again just about killed me. You almost lost you're beloved author, folks, but fortunately I'm still kickin ;P
> 
> This chapter is double the length of my usual one's to make up for my vanishing act (but it is also mostly unedited. i do not have the energy within myself to proof read it, sorry for any mistakes :d)
> 
> I am drowning in homework, but I love you all!! Thanks for reading and have a great week!!!!!
> 
> ~ASL


	17. A Set of Revelations

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Grayson needs therapy. 'Nuff said.

In Conner’s opinion, there were many advantages to being considered ‘quiet’.

For starters, few people were brave enough to talk to him (and that—obviously—was a massive plus). Secondly, when the clone _did_ actually speak, people listened. 

Words coming from an unexpected source carried weight, and Conner’s words were few and far between. 

That being said, in this particular instance, not even his quiet demeanour would be enough to exempt him from the commissioner’s glare.

“Well? Correct me if I’m wrong, but did I not say this little chat was of a personal nature?” There was a palpable tension in the room, thick enough to slice with a dull toothpick. 

“Right, ma’am,” Aqualad shot a hesitant look at the detective, who was sitting hunched on a nearby chair, and Conner suddenly understood his leader’s apprehension. 

Kaldur was worried the commissioner was going to do something rash, something rash that would likely affect Detective Grayson. Griffin didn’t seem the type to physically or emotionally harm, but he supposed Grayson was in an especially vulnerable state.

Conner wasn’t sure when certain members of their team had started worrying about the lippy, dark-haired man, but sometime in the last day and half…it’d happened. 

Either way, he fixed his enhanced hearing on the detective’s heart rate, listening to its rhythmic pounding carefully. It was a bit slow, likely due to his recent injury, but decidedly not scared or skittish.

Detective Grayson, despite his taut expression, did not actually fear the wrathful woman looming from behind her desk. 

As with most things in the past twenty-four hours, Conner suspected, the detective was just being a dramatic git. 

“We’re going,” The super-clone said, not waiting for the rest of them to respond before walking out the door. If Grayson wasn’t in actual danger, he didn’t see any issue in leaving.

He sensed so much as saw Kaldur pause behind him, as if torn, but the Atlantean soon followed, Kid Flash and Artemis right on his tail.

“Well,” The speedster muttered as soon as the commissioner’s door was closed, “Hopefully we didn’t just doom him to getting torn apart by his boss. That would…” He trailed off.

“Suck.” Artemis finished for him.

“Yeah, that.”

Conner didn’t like the way Aqualad was looking at him one bit.

“Do you think you could, perhaps—” The gilled man shifted when he found Superboy’s stare on him. Another thing about being the quiet one; it was rather easy to scare people. “Never mind, friend.”

“You want me to listen in and make sure the commissioner isn’t currently dismantling Detective Grayson.” 

Kaldur looked marginally guilty but Wally, as per usual, had no shame. 

“Oh, yeah!” The ginger rounded on Superboy, “Do you think you could do that?”

Conner snorted. Of course he could. What did they take him for, a child?

He technically was a child, being a clone and all, but they’d unanimously affected to ignore that. Otherwise his relationship with M’gann would be…illegal, to say the least. 

Besides, he had the emotional, mental, and educational maturity of a man.

(At least, he was fairly certain he did).

Conner cleared his throat. _Moving on_.

“I’ll take that vague grunt as a yes?”

Conner shot Wally a glare, one they all knew held no fire behind it, and closed his eyes. 

Disentangling himself from the surrounding noise of the precinct took a second, but then he was tuning out the humming pipes and murmuring voices, the flush of a urinal upstairs and the obnoxious sound of two people making out in the evidence lock-up. 

And then he found them.

“—talked about this, Grayson.” It was the commissioner’s voice, an odd sort of warble in it. “I can’t lose my best detective.” 

“Do I look lost to you?”

There was quiet, just the sound of a lightbulb humming in its socket, then—

“Yes, Grayson.” Her voice was impossibly soft. “You do.”

The detective sighed, loud and exasperated in the sudden silence. “Griffin. I’m _fine_ , just had a rough couple of days—”

“Don’t lie to me,” The tone was steel; commanding and cold. “You’re barely holding on by a thread. Just look at yourself,” There was a rustling, as if the commissioner were gesturing at him.

“I can’t.” Grayson deadpanned. Conner could almost imagine his face as he said it.

“I’ve been lenient. I let you work alone because I thought you’d get better with time. I let you off the hook because I knew you were—are—working through things. Now, I have no idea what happened back in Gotham—”

“Don’t.” That was, perhaps, the iciest he’d ever heard the detective sound. And Conner had heard him verbally take apart Addams earlier.

“—and I have no idea why you’re so against having a partner. I don’t know what you do at night,” Her voice lilted again, verging into that same softness as before. “But I also know I don’t care.”

There was a quick intake of breath from Grayson, one Conner couldn’t even begin to decipher. 

“What I do care about is my officers. My detectives. You, Grayson. And I cannot allow this destructive behaviour to continue. You’re either going to get killed or work yourself into an early grave, which is arguably worse.”

“Commissioner—”

“When you first arrived here, you were a mess. You didn’t trust me and you didn’t like me—don’t deny it, I know it’s true. You were angry, throwing yourself into _case_ after _case_ after _case_. But I helped you pull out of it, you _let_ me pull you out. All I’m asking is for you to trust me again, to know this is not what’s best for you right now. To let these heroes do what I no longer can.

“That being said,” Her voice twisted into something akin to amusement, “I also can’t give you too long of a vacation. You are our best detective, after all.”

Grayson was quiet for a moment. When he did speak, his voice was barely above a whisper, “A vacation? That’s a bit much, isn’t it?”

Conner’s thin concentration was abruptly broken by a certain speedster’s annoyed huff. 

“Come on, man. What’s happening?”

The clone sighed. He’d forgotten the rest of the team weren’t blessed with super hearing. “The commissioner is threatening Detective Grayson with vacation time. Grayson is not taking it well.”

Artemis and Wally snorted simultaneously, then narrowed their eyes at each other.

Conner couldn’t wait for the day the two heroes woke up and finally (blessed _finally_ ) realized they had feelings for each other. All their strange banter and obscure flirting was slowly driving him crazy.

He and M’gann hadn’t been that bad, right?

Tuning out the now arguing heroes, he focused back in on the conversation.

“—One week, detective. One week of vacation time, starting today. That’ll be plenty enough time to heal and get yourself back into sorts.”

There was an inhuman groaning sound. Conner could only assume it was coming from Grayson. 

“And no sneaking case files home. And no bribing Frank with cigars. And—”

“I get it, Griffins. No work.” By the ominous tone of his voice, it sounded like she’d just saddled him with a death sentence. 

There was another hitch of amusement when she spoke, as if the commissioner were fighting off a smile. “Good. I’m happy to see you making friends.”

“Friends?” Cloth rustled, as if the detective had just sat up in his seat. “What friends?”

“The Young Justice team, of course. They seemed quite concerned about your wellbeing.” Conner didn’t think he was imagining the smug trill in her tone. 

Grayson huffed dryly, “You planned this, didn’t you. You assigned me to the case so I would be forced to interact with them.”

“I can neither confirm nor deny any accusations at this time,” She paused. “But yes, I may have taken your penchant for isolating yourself into account when I partnered you with the team.”

“ _You_ —”

“However, I also think this case requires your mind. You have both witnessed the effects of vigilantism and seen it firsthand. As of now, you’re their best bet at finding this new ‘Nightwing’ character.”

Conner paused at that, losing their thread of conversation in his surprise. _Firsthand? Because he was from Gotham? Or..?_

He shook his head, filing this new information away for later. 

“Ah. Right.” Grayson was saying, sounding uncomfortable. Conner couldn’t tell if it was caused by the commissioner’s praise or something else.

“So, are we at an agreement?”

There was a slight pause, as if the detective were mulling things over. “Fine.”

“Splendid. Now, if you feel up for it, I’ll invite them back in so we can debrief what is no doubt your most recent set of theories.”

“Yes, ma’am.”

Superboy snapped out of his eavesdropping and stepped back from the door, having not realized how close he’d wandered while listening in.

It swung open, revealing the stoic face of Commissioner Griffin. She looked impartial, face unreadable despite the emotional undertones of her recent conversation. “Come in.”

Once they were all inside, Aqualad closed the door behind them, effectively shutting out the hustle and bustle of the department.

Superboy moved soundlessly to the back, leaning against the wall and crossing his arms over his chest. From there, he could see all the room’s occupants at the same time.

No surprises. 

“Have you reached an agreement?” Kaldur broached calmly, sinking into one of the proffered chairs. 

“We have,” The commissioner side-eyed her detective, as if worried he might start kicking up a fuss. Grayson remained quiet however, one hand pressed over the rip in his pants. “Detective Grayson has agreed to one week’s vacation time, for recuperation.”

It’d sounded like they'd discussed a lot more than ‘recuperation’ to Conner, but the clone wasn’t supposed to know that.

“I’ll have to take a break from the case. While I’m gone, it will be left in your—” Grayson wrinkled his nose, “—capable hands.” 

There it was; that same flash of disdain from yesterday. Like the detective had some personal vendetta against them. 

“Of course,” Aqualad inclined his head towards the pair, looking every bit the part of gracious leader. “We will do our best in your absence.”

To his credit, Grayson managed not to comment. Though it looked like he really, really wanted to.

“Now that that’s settled,” Griffin was all business again, straight angles and taut limbs against her desk. “Grayson, what are you thinking.”

The detective was silent for a moment, eyes blank as he stared at the drab precinct floor. The only sound was Kid Flash’s foot tapping incessantly against the tile. 

Then Grayson sat up, fixing his cold gaze on Griffin. “It occurred to me earlier that the crime scenes are connected. Two mass homicides, carried out less then sixteen hours apart? It can’t be a coincidence.”

“No offense,” Artemis said. “But Bludhaven doesn’t exactly have the best reputation. Is it really so unrealistic to say they’re separate incidents?”

“That’s what I thought at first,” The detective’s blue gaze swivelled to the archer. “Perhaps they were unrelated, two separate crimes carried out on two separate occasions. But that doesn’t make sense; there’re too many connections.”

Wally’s leg finally stopped bouncing. “What about a copycat killer? Someone just mimicking the first crime?”

Grayson desperately looked like he wanted to get up and pace, his whole body thrumming with directionless energy. “Another valid theory, until you take into account the parallels. Two hitmen,” He held up two fingers, wiggling them in the air. “that are reputable in certain circles for their contract killing. Two hitmen that, previously, weren’t active in Bludhaven.”

“Two?” The archer narrowed her eyes at him. “I thought we didn’t catch the second killer.”

“Copperhead. He’s well known, famous for his reptilian transformations and bloody crime scenes. Br—” The detective coughed, pressing a finger to his temple and furrowing his brows, as if annoyed with himself. “That is, _Batman_ recently went toe-to-toe with him, but the hitman got away. He hadn’t been sighted since. Till today, obviously.”

Kid Flash made a time out gesture, hands literally sparking. “Wait, that guy was Copperhead? The one we just brought in?”

“Yep.”

“And you knew that?”

“Yeah.”

“Then why didn’t you tell us?”

Grayson blinked at the speedster, as if confused. “Why would I’ve?”

“Because we’re, oh, I don’t know, _on the same team_?”

Grayson still seemed confused. “Okay?”

Wally threw his hands into the air, watched by a particularly amused looking commissioner. 

“Let me lay out the facts,” The detective continued, shrugging off the speedster’s confusion. “Two mass homicides, barely a day apart. Both carried out by low cartel hitmen operating in Bludhaven, which neither of them were previously active in, targeting bottom feeder drug dealers.”

“That’s true.” Artemis’ snapped her fingers together, as if something had just occurred to her, “And both culprits waited at the scene. Sniper was still there when Grayson and Detective Bollocks arrived, and Copperhead was hiding out at the bar.”

A tiny, burgeoning smile spread across the detective’s face. It made him look younger, the taut lines under his eyes seeming just a little softer. “My thoughts exactly.”

Kaldur spoke for the first time since they’d entered the room, “Where does that leave us with our true mission? Forgive me for my lack of tact, but I do not see where our Nightwing fits into all this.”

With his enhanced hearing, Conner literally heard when someone’s heart skipped a beat. He straightened against the wall, narrowing in until he found the culprit.

Grayson. It’d been Grayson.

The man’s face hadn’t so much as twitched, but for some reason the topic of ‘Nightwing’ had startled him. 

That, or he had a pre-existing heart condition. Though, with the way he’d chased after Sniper like some kind of parkour fiend, Conner doubted the latter was true.

He listened again, but the detective’s heart was beating at a smooth and steady pace. Either Conner had imagined everything, or Grayson was now controlling it.

Artemis spoke next, derailing Superboy’s theorizing for the time being. “What if he’s one of these new hitmen appearing? I mean, it would make sense. Someone who’s never been sighted in Bludhaven, coincidentally making a debut at the exact same time of the homicides?”

From across the room, Grayson sighed. “It is fishy timing, but are we sure he’s one of them?”

“He stole the bloodwork right out of this office. The bloodwork that we didn’t want anyone finding. The bloodwork that could’ve proved crucial to the case.” 

Grayson’s frown merely deepened. “Again, Artemis, you have a fantastic point.” He looked oddly disturbed by something. Then, suddenly—

He sat up, eyes wide as he heaved himself out of his chair.

“Sit down!” Artemis shouted at the same time Wally said, “Dude. No.”

“Wait,” Commissioner Griffin—who Conner thought would be all about getting the injured detective to take a seat—spoke firmly from behind her desk. “Just wait. Let him do his thing.”

Grayson didn’t speak. He simply wobbled there, staring at the ground with an unreadable expression, before tilting his neck and gazing at the ceiling. “The blood work.”

The commissioner didn’t even bat an eye at his strange phrasing. “Use your words, detective. As I’ve said before, we do not have a seat to your mind’s innerworkings.”

The man blinked, eyeing the rest of the room as if he’d forgotten they were there. “Right. The unrecognizable components in the Gang's blood, found in all the targets that were killed. If this really were a mirror case…”

“Oh,” Artemis let out a quick breath, “If the cases were really connected, then the victims at the bar would also have the substance in their system—"

“Or something like it,” Grayson finished for her. He turned, barely managing not to collapse while doing it, and stared at the commissioner. “We need to get at least one of the bodies from Addams, without revealing our theory to him. No one else can find out, they’d be in danger.”

“I agree,” Griffin arched one of her perfect brows. “But you, detective, will not be a part of that operation. You will be holding up your end of our agreement.”

“Commissioner—”

“No, you gave me your word. I can handle this. No one outside of this room will have to know.” She gave him a small smile, barely a twitch of the lips, really. “I can be discreet when I choose to, detective. I’ve managed as commissioner, after all.”

“Of course, I just…” Grayson glanced at the awkwardly spectating heroes. “Of course.”

“Good. Now, if you would be so kind as to drop your gun and badge off downsta—”

Conner’s ears twitched as he picked up a telltale sound, that of shoes slapping against tile as someone ran towards the commissioner’s office. The super crouched, slowly and silently easing himself into a tackle position.

Like he’d said; no more surprises. Not on his watch.

Before Commissioner Griffin could get another word out, the door was flung open and someone wearing a department uniform flurried in. “Commissioner! Commissioner Griffin!”

It was almost comical, the way the rest of the room reacted.

Grayson’s hand flew to his belt (though there was nothing there but his badge); Aqualad whipped one of his water bearers to life; Artemis had an arrow strung so fast not even Conner could track the motion; and Wally bent low into something resembling a runner’s position, lightning flowing from him like water.

What a lovely bunch of high-strung misfits they all were. Like peas in an extremely tense and emotionally stunted pod.

Officer McKibben—at least, that’s what Conner thought his name was—pulled to a stop, eyeing each of them warily.

To the average human being, Superboy supposed, they probably looked a little intimidating.

“Um, pardon the...intrusion.” He cleared his throat, eyes finding the commissioner behind her desk, “But I was instructed to inform you immediately when—” McKibben broke off, eyeing the heroes distrustfully.

Griffin waved his caution away, “You may speak, officer. They’re allowed to know everything during their time here.”

“If you say so.” He still looked suspicious of them, but delivered his message all the same, “I was instructed to inform you immediately should the contracted killer, Sniper’s, condition change.”

“And has it?” The commissioner said sharply, sitting up in her seat.

“Yes,” McKibben sucked in a heavy breath. “He’s awake.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'll just leave that nice cliffhanger for y'all to hang onto. Have fun!!
> 
> Also * _inserts heartfelt apology for this chapter's lateness and general unedited-ness_ * 
> 
> In all seriousness tho, my free time has been reduced by like a lot. I'm really hoping I can get back to my original update schedule soon, but until school calms tf down...I don't see that happening. Sorry ;-;
> 
> Thank you for staying so patient and kind! I don't know how I ended up with such lovely and incredible readers, but <333
> 
> Okay love you all *blows kisses* Lemme know if there's any horrifying mistakes (I! Did! Not! Edit! At! All!)
> 
> ~ASL


	18. A(nother?) Rooftop Conversation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which we meet some Justice League members, and it goes about as horrible as you'd expect ;)

Conner could’ve sworn Grayson was ready to run straight to the hospital after McKibben’s announcement, injury and all.

The detective, who still wasn’t sitting (much to Wally and Artemis’ chagrin), swung around to face Griffin, eyes wide.

“No.” The commissioner said without even looking in his direction. “We made a deal.”

“You can’t be serious.” The man swayed where he stood but paid the action no heed, “Just push off my vacation time till tomorrow.”

“Detective,” Her tone was equal parts exasperation and endearment. McKibben, on the other hand, merely smiled smugly at Grayson’s obvious distress. “I stand by what I said. Your vacation begins as soon as you exit my office.”

“Seriously dude, it’s just a break.” Wally had his arms stretched out, as if making ready to catch Grayson when he inevitably collapsed. “Some people would kill for it.”

McKibben opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted by the commissioner’s door practically flying off its hinges. 

Conner turned a glare towards the intrusion, annoyed at their abrupt entry. 

People really needed to start knocking.

“Commissioner Griffin!” A young woman, who couldn’t be passed her early twenties, hurried inside. “Commissioner!—oh, my apologies. I didn’t know you were busy.”

Wally stared at the new arrival, “What is this, a meet and greet? Anyone else want share some breaking news?"

The commissioner in question rose to her feet, looking far too tired for someone her age. “How may I help you, officer?”

The officer flushed, biting her lip as she stared at the assembled heroes. Conner didn’t think he was imagining the way her gaze seemed to linger on him in particular. 

_Fangirl_ , he thought distastefully. 

It’s not that he had anything against his ‘fangirls’ (or fanboys, he had those too), it was more so that his few encounters with them had been…horrifying. 

They were all rabid, to say the least.

“I really didn’t know you had company,” The woman said. “I wouldn’t usually barge in like this, but…”

Griffin rubbed at the worry lines between her eyes. “Just tell me what it is.”

“There’s a, um,” She looked at Conner again (he would give anything to be able to fly—if only to get away from this conversation) and sucked her entire bottom lip into her mouth. “There’s two men on the roof. They want to talk to you, or something.”

The commissioner narrowed her eyes, like she wasn’t sure she’d heard right. “There’re men, on the roof?”

“Yes. Men. On the roof. They want to tal—”

“ _Thank you_ , officer, but I think the commissioner heard your message. You are now dismissed,” McKibben waved a hand towards the door. “Off you pop, dear.”

Once the woman was gone, Griffin sank back into her seat with a sigh. “This is certainly shaping up to be a much busier day than I imagined it'd be.”

“Tell me about it,” Grayson muttered darkly from his seat, fixing an icy glare on his bandaged leg.

“Oh ‘cry me a river’, celebrity britches. Your life is just such a little nightmare,” McKibben’s tone held enough salt to kill a freshwater fish. “Please. Get over yoursel—”

“Deputy McKibben,” Conner thought he saw the commissioner’s eye literally twitch in its socket. “This has been an extraordinarily difficult few hours for everyone here, regardless of their economic standing, so I would greatly appreciate it if you shut your damn mouth.”

Wally laughed, but quickly turned it into a cough when Artemis’ elbow dug into his ribs.

“My apologies, commissioner.” McKibben sounded anything but apologetic.

Conner snuck a glance at Grayson, curious to see how he was reacting to the other man’s tirade, but the detective seemed unfazed by it. There was a small, bitter smile on his face. Like he was remembering something. 

He certainly was a strange little bird, wasn’t he? 

“Would you like us to accompany you to the roof, ma’am?” Kaldur’s voice acted like honey on the situation, smoothing out all the cracks and getting them back on track again.

The commissioner was now rubbing at her temples, eyes half closed. “I believe that would be best, especially since I have an inkling over who our newest guests may be.”

McKibben frowned, “But Griffin, Sniper—”

She cut McKibben off, getting to her feet and stepping out from behind her desk. “Will have to wait. I’m sure the hospital staff can manage him in our stead.”

And with that, they began to file out of the room. Conner was just about to step over the threshold when he heard a commotion behind him, immediately swivelling his head around to confront it, when—

He paused, raising a quizzical brow at the sight before him.

Artemis seemed to be quite literally growling at Detective Grayson, who had evidently tried to get up out of his chair again.

“You _idiot_. You absolute and utter _moron_.” She physically spread her arms, as if that would prevent him from escaping. “Stay in your chair, you fuc—”

“Okay!” Wally, who no doubt recognized the archer’s _I-am-about-to-eviscerate-the-person-in-front-of-me_ tone, leapt between them. “Let’s just think about this for a sec.”

“There’s nothing to ‘think’ about.” Artemis gestured at Grayson wildly. “We went through all that work to patch him up, and now he’s just going to pull himself open all over again.”

Conner studied the detective carefully, quietly noting how the man’s hand seemed to hover above his belt.

Was he reaching for his gun? His badge? The action didn’t make any sense, and it looked practiced. Learned.

 _Strange_.

“Yeah?” Grayson smiled smugly, “What’s it to you, quiver girl?”

“ _Quiver girl_? Why I oughtta—"

As Conner watched the two verbally dismantle each other in front of him, he reminisced about when they’d first met the detective. When they’d thought the dark-haired man to be mild mannered and shy. Perhaps studious, even.

He hid a smile behind his hand as Grayson delivered a particularly witty retort to a stammering Artemis. 

Oh, how naïve they had all been.

“What’s the hold-up?” The commissioner called over her shoulder, poking her head back into the room and glaring at them all. 

“This—this _buffoon’s_ trying to follow us to the roof!” Artemis called, pointing an accusatory finger at the detective.

“Good.” Griffin gestured for them to follow, “We’re pushing your vacation off for a few hours, Grayson. You'll be happy to hear. I have a feeling you need to be present for this.”

“Yes, ma’am.” Conner could only describe the detective’s expression as smarmy. There was no other word for the toothy grin he was giving the archer.

Artemis threw her hands into the air, ignoring the way Wally patted her shoulder consolingly.

“There there, babe.” The speedster looked immensely amused, though he was clearly trying to hide it behind a serious expression. “You’ll get him next time.”

“I hate you.”

~~~~~~~~~~ ~~~~~~~~~~~~

With that conflict (sort of) resolved, they continued on their way to the police department’s roof. 

Whatever Conner had been expecting, this was not it.

The sky was even more overcast now, clouds hanging low and the air smelling faintly of precipitation. 

That, however, wasn’t what’d surprised him. 

For waiting on the roof, bedecked in all their hero glory, were Green Arrow and Green Lantern.

 _Lot’s of colours in this hero community_ , Conner thought rather stupidly, still shocked by the heroes’ unexpected presence. 

In fact, the only one who didn’t appear surprised by the Leaguers’ impromptu visit was the commissioner. She merely nodded at them, a serious expression pulling at the corners of her lips.

The two green heroes approached, both of them smiling widely. 

“Hello!” Hal Jordan—better known by his alias Green Lantern—took up a wide stance, arms crossed over his barrel of a chest.

Green Arrow took a much more subdued approach, stepping out from behind his colleague and looking at the younger heroes critically, “Good to see you’re all still in one piece.” 

Superboy didn’t think he imagined the way the archer’s gaze lingered on his past protégé, carefully eyeing her up and down. When he saw she was uninjured, the hero seemed to relax a little.

Then Green Arrow caught sight of Grayson, who was sandwiched between a cautious Artemis and Kid Flash. 

The lenses of the man’s mask widened significantly as he stared, as if disbelievingly, at the detective. “Dick?”

Superboy frowned, turning around so he could glance at Detective Grayson. 

The man had crossed his arms over his chest, bearing down on Green Arrow with a look of pure venom.

“I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting, _sir_ ,” The detective bit out, tone clipped beyond casual dislike.

“Oh,” Green Arrow muttered something under his breath. “We…haven’t. I’ve just seen you on the news and…” He gestured vaguely, “Stuff."

Grayson sighed heavily, like was contemplating taking a swan dive over the roof's edge. “Right. Stuff.”

Wally caught Conner’s eye from above the detective’s shoulder, arching his eyebrows in a very clear _What’s that all about??_

Superboy shrugged one shoulder, wishing more then ever that M’gann was with them.

Partially because she could read minds, but mostly just because he missed her. Sure, they could go weeks without seeing each other, but Conner still…missed her.

He shook his head, hoping to physically dispel his needy thoughts.

Green Lantern, who also seemed confused over Grayson and Green Arrow’s strange little introduction, smoothed another smile over his disgruntled expression, “Commissioner Griffin, I presume?” 

The commissioner stepped forward, extending a hand towards the hero. “You are correct in that presumption. I trust you didn’t have any issues finding your way?”

Lantern brandished his finger and the glowing signet ring on it. “None at all, though it has been awhile since I’ve visited your, erm, charming city.”

“Too close to the Bat,” Green Arrow, much less practiced in subtlety, said the word ‘Bat’ like it was synonymous with _poison_ or _taxes_. “Superman doesn’t like us going near Gotham, especially not when the Batsy’s in a mood.”

Conner really, really wished his heart didn’t skip a beat at the mention of his DNA donor’s name. 

Superman still hadn't accepted him, even after all these years. Sure, the Kryptonian would talk to him and hold civil conversations, but Conner certainly wasn't getting invited to any Kent Thanksgivings.

“Yes,” Griffin murmured. “I heard from another commissioner friend of mine that the Batman's been in…quite the funk lately.”

“Understatement,” Green Lantern said under his breath, but he quickly raised his voice again. “Enough about Gotham though, what seems to be the problem here? Young Justice causing a ruckus already?” He winked at the younger heroes, as if to show them it was all in jest.

Superboy winced, recalling all the times they’d botched stealth missions or literally blown up situations in the past.

Honestly, he couldn’t blame Lantern.

“Wait,” Detective Grayson spoke slowly, like he was still having trouble comprehending the situation. He turned on the commissioner, eyes wide. “ _You_ called them here?”

The woman winced, as if she’d been expecting this. “Yes, I did.”

A million expressions flashed across Grayson’s face, none of which Conner could interpret. “ _Why?_ ”

“Because we don’t have the facilities to hold a criminal like Copperhead, especially taking into account that he’s a meta. I would ship him to Arkham but, with everything going on in Gotham right now, I didn’t think it safe.”

“But,” Grayson seemed at a loss for words, “What about our interrogation?”

The commissioner glanced at the other two heroes, eyes narrowed, “I am assuming that, since we were promised their cooperation, they would not object to you and your companions carrying it out as planned.”

Conner heard Green Lantern audibly swallow, “Of course, ma’am. Whatever you need.”

Griffin stopped glaring immediately. “There, detective, whatever we need. Satisfied?”

Grayson seemed to consider Lantern for a minute, staring intently enough for the older hero to look uncomfortable. Finally, he sighed and said, “For the moment.”

“Excellent,” The commissioner clapped her hands together, face considerably less stony then it had been earlier. “Any other objections?”

To Superboy’s surprise, Green Arrow cleared his throat, “Yes, actually. What the hell is he doing here?” The hero didn’t sound disgusted, just confused.

Griffin answered before Grayson could, no doubt sensing his rebuttal would be anything but pleasant. “He is one of my detective’s, if you must know. Has been for over a year.”

Green Arrow frowned, giving the other man a once over, “Since when are you a detective?”

“Since when are you an interrogator?” The detective shot back with enough venom to kill a small animal.

Arrow’s brows nearly lifted off his forehead. “What—"

“Okay, kitties,” Green Lantern stepped in front of his colleague, shooting the commissioner an apologetic look. “Let’s put our claws away and have a nice conversation.”

“Agreed,” Griffin said. “Copperhead will be arriving any minute now, and I’d rather he not see us as a disorganized front.”

“Couldn’t have said it better myself.” Lantern gave Green Arrow another warning look before turning back towards Grayson. “In the meantime, who exactly are you?”

Both Arrow and his former protégé smacked their foreheads, groaning at the other’s idiocy.

Conner didn’t think it was Lantern’s fault; he himself certainly hadn’t known who the detective was before Artemis explained.

“Detective Richard Grayson, but I go by Dick.”

“Ah,” Lantern wrinkled his nose. “Unfortunate nickname you got there, kid.”

“It suits him,” Wally muttered from his place at Grayson’s side. 

“I don’t mean to be rude,” Green Lantern ventured again hesitantly, “But…why does that name sound familiar?”

Green Arrow looked ready to have a stroke, but he reined in his exasperation and settled for giving an explanation instead, “He’s the prince of Gotham, in the paper all the time. Richard Wayne-Grayson ring any bells?”

Conner could practically see the gears turning in Hal Jordan’s brain.

“Oh!” The man suddenly said, abruptly angling himself in the detective’s direction, “You’re Bruce’s kid!”

Superboy turned just in time to see Grayson wince, a small movement that would’ve been imperceptible to the average eye.

Fortunately, Conner Kent did not have average eyes, and he could easily read the subtle defensive posture the detective slipped into, as if preparing himself to run.

Though Conner didn’t necessarily understand _why_ Grayson wanted to leave their current situation, he recognized that ‘fight or flight’ look from his own reflection.

There had been countless situations in the past when the Kryptonian clone had wanted to run away, to escape. Finding out Superman didn’t give a fig about him; learning _Lex Luthor_ of all people was half his genetic father; he and M’gann’s first fight…

So, yes, Conner understood how terrible the need to escape was. How degrading and small it made one feel.

He also knew that he never wanted anyone to feel that way again, whether they were some prince of Gotham or a random retail worker.

Which is why he slowly sidled in front of Grayson, blocking the heroes' view of the small man with his own body. “I think,” He said slowly, making direct eye contact with both Leaguers, “That Detective Grayson's personal life is irrelevant in this situation.”

He thought he saw the commissioner cover a smile, but perhaps it was just his overly defensive mind imagining things. 

Kaldur, whether or not he understood what Superboy was trying to do, immediately picked up the slack. “Yes, I agree. We need to figure out when an interrogation would be best.”

“Oh,” Green Arrow exchanged some kind of look with his fellow Leaguer, one that Conner didn’t understand in the least. “We were kind of thinking…I mean, we really shouldn’t bring a civilian to the Mountain. I know I said yes before, but...especially not one of his caliber.” He jabbed a thumb in Grayson’s direction.

Hal nodded, though he looked much more reluctant. “’Sides, we’re the grown ups. We can handle interrogating some snake man, ya’know?”

“No,” Kaldur bit out, echoing Superboy’s thoughts exactly. “We are not having this discussion again. Not here, not now.”

Grayson glanced between the two older men and the younger heroes, clearly trying to puzzle out what the Atlantean was referring to. 

“Unc—uh, that is, Green Arrow,” Artemis said, stumbling over how she usually addressed her faux relative. 

The two had gotten closer in the years, Oliver truly becoming some kind of pseudo uncle to the younger woman. Conner reluctantly imagined how nice it would be to have someone like family in the League.

Artemis cleared her throat, glancing around carefully to see if anyone had caught her mistake. “You made a promise to the commissioner.”

“Yes,” The disguised Oliver Queen looked torn, like he desperately didn’t want to deny his surrogate niece anything. “But that was before I realized _Richard Wayne-Grayson_ was the officer you were working with.”

“What’s your problem with Grayson?” Wally asked from his place beside the detective, looking genuinely confused.

Conner hadn’t though it possible, but Arrow looked even more constipated now. “I really don’t have a problem with him, it’s more his guardian that might prove an issue.”

“Bruce Wayne?” Artemis wrinkled her nose as if in disgust, “Why would he be an issue? I thought he was just some frat boy that never grew up.”

Grayson barked out an absolutely terrifying laugh at Artemis’ words, one that had chills running up and down Superboy’s spine. It was more of a cackle, really.

It reminded him of the day they’d first met Grayson outside that warehouse, when he’d laughed the same way.

Conner thought about it slowly, puzzling through all the information he’d learned in the past few days. Then he remembered what Kaldur had said, what felt like weeks ago.

“It’s because this Bruce Wayne guy funds half the League, isn’t it?” He said, all the puzzle pieces falling into place before him. “And you’re worried that if anything happened to his son—to Detective Grayson—you’d lose Wayne’s financial support.”

At least Green Arrow had the gall to look ashamed. “I know it makes me sound like a terrible person but, losing Wayne’s support…even just the positive press he brings us, would set us back years.”

Grayson smiled that feral smile of his, like he’d found something infinitely amusing about Green Arrow’s statement. “Right. Where would the Justice League be without Bruce’s _unfailing_ support.”

“I mean it, kid,” Arrow said. “Your guardian’s an extremely generous man.”

The detective merely smiled at the older archer, not commenting further on Bruce Wayne’s supposed giving spirit.

“Well,” Green Lantern broke the silence that’d encircled them. “That was a train wreck. I swear we’re not terrible people; your safety would be a major concern, too.”

Arrow nodded earnestly. “It would. We can’t have civilians inside the mountain. I mean, what if there was an attack? Or some kind of emergency happened?”

“They have a point,” Wally added slowly, eyeing Grayson’s injured leg with particular concern. “I hate to say it, but It’s not like you have powers to defend yourself, man.”

If Conner hadn’t been watching the detective for a reaction, he would’ve missed the way Grayson's eyes nearly rolled out of their sockets.

“I think I’m fairly good at keeping myself safe, KF. Today was just a—”

Before Grayson could finish speaking, the commissioner quietly cleared her throat, raising an impressive brow at him. “I don’t know why we’re even having this discussion, especially considering you’re on vacation time for the next week.”

If looks could kill, they would literally all be dead. Grayson would have just murdered them with his gaze alone.

“Oh,” Was all he said, but his glare spoke volumes. “Thanks for the reminder."

“But,” The commissioner turned her stern gaze on the two older heroes. “I’m certain that, when your vacation time is over, you will be most welcome to interrogate Copperhead, wherever he may be.”

“Well, I’m not so sure if we can—” Green Arrow started, still looking apologetic about it, but Hal quickly elbowed him between the ribs.

“Grayson’s welcome any time,” The hero said with a smile. “Young Justice know where to go and his safety will be our top concern.”

The commissioner gave them a single nod. “I’m glad we came to an agreement.”

Lantern looked between Grayson, who was still glaring, and the commissioner. His brow beaded with sweat. “Yeah, me too.”

Conner thought it interesting that two powerless humans, who arguably weren’t very threatening, could make a grown hero nervous.

Very, very interesting. Almost _too_ interesting, but that was a thought for another time. 

They were saved from having to speak further (thankfully, as Conner felt he’d filled his word quota for the day) when the rooftop door flew open and up marched a small squad of officers.

There were at least nine of them, lead by Deputy McKibben. Copperhead was shackled by power dampening cuffs, ambling forward like he had all the time in the world.

Conner wasn’t going to lie and say he was unaffected by the metahuman’s reptilian grin, but the clone had also faced down much more threatening foes than this.

In comparison to some of the things Superboy had seen, Copperhead was no more than a party trick.

That being said, Conner also knew not to underestimate the snake-man. Complacent heroes might wind up hurt, but overconfident ones ended up dead.

“Hello,” The hitman hissed out, looking entirely too pleased to be surrounded by heroes. “Fancy meeting you here.”

He drew out each syllable, eyes glimmering as they rested on the spectating crowd. Then, the villain caught sight of the detective and it was as if a light went on behind his eyes.

“Grayssssson!” He shifted forward, parting the surrounding officers like they were mere dummies in his path. “It’sss so good to finally meet you. Masster talked about you all the time.” 

To seemingly everyone’s surprise (except, perhaps, the commissioner’s—Conner didn’t think anything surprised her) the detective didn’t so much as blink.

Almost as if this was just another day on the job.

 _Interesting_.

“Copperhead,” The detective said, eyeing the hitman up and down. “You’re breath reeks. Ever heard of a mint?”

The snake-man hissed, though whether the sound was one of amusement or anger Conner couldn’t tell. Either way, he wasn’t sure he wanted to know.

“He told me you were mouthy, too. Ever since you were just a ittlesss one, he said.” Copperhead was definitely amused now, forked tongue flickering between pointed teeth in a morbid smile. “I wissh I could tassste you.”

Grayson raised an eyebrow. “Really? I’d probably taste horrible. That college diet did me in, if you know what I mean.”

Conner eyed Grayson’s lean musculature skeptically. It didn’t look like the man had ever skipped a day at the gym, let alone survived a year on ramen noodles.

“So lippy,” Copperhead said again, though he seemed considerably less pleased with himself now. Apparently the detective’s cavalier attitude was finally getting to him. “How about I just—”

“Alright,” Green Lantern’s ring pulsed a bright green and, seconds later, a glowing metal muzzle attached itself to Copperhead’s elongated snout. “That’s enough.”

Arrow nodded, eyeing Detective Grayson curiously before turning back to Griffin. “Thank you for letting us take him off your hands, commissioner. I don’t want to imagine the havoc he’d cause if he managed to escape.”

The hitman struggled against Green Lantern’s makeshift gag, as if trying to describe just what kind of chaos he’d have stirred up.

“Thank you for responding so swiftly,” The commissioner answered in kind, ignoring the writhing snake-man completely. “It was a pleasure meeting you.”

Green Arrow shook her hand stoutly, “Likewise.”

Then, with the formalities out of the way, he gave his attention to the Young Justice team. “We’ll have to meet soon for a debrief, understood? And to schedule that interrogation.” 

The rest of the team gave various affirmations, Conner simply nodding his head in response.

“Good, we’ll be in contact,” He smiled once more at Artemis, gave Grayson another indecipherable look, then motioned something at his colleague. 

Green Lantern evidently understood the signal, as his ring pulsed again and lifted himself, Arrow, and Copperhead into the air.

The villain’s legs pinwheeled as his feet left the ground. He was no doubt cursing them out with his forked tongue, but nothing could be heard through the gag. 

Which was good, in Conner’s opinion. He’d heard enough of that oily voice to last a lifetime. This experience might’ve even given him an aversion to snakes; he’d have to wait and see. 

“Hasta la vista!” Green Lantern called, giving them all one last wave.

And then the heroes were gone, leaving nothing but clouded Bludhaven sky and a roof full of officers behind them.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Exams literally almost _killed me_. Consider it a miracle that I'm still among the living y'all
> 
> Sorry for (another e_e) late late late unedited chapter. Hopefully now that exams are done I can pick up my old update schedule. Fingers crossed!
> 
> Thank you for being patient with my horrible author-ness (Is that a word?? I don't even know anymore)
> 
> And, as always, thank you so much for your support! Like this story has over 8,000 hits???????? How?????? When?????? You're all so kind and amazing ;-;
> 
> Have a great week everyone! Love ya
> 
> ~ASL


	19. A Glimpse at the Past

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Anyone order a side of angst with some Exhausted Grayson™?? If so ya meal's here eat up

Dick was, for the most part, a pretty calm individual.

He had his moments of…anger, but he liked to think they were few and far between. Sure, he wasn’t a Buddhist monk or the Virgin Mary, but he felt like a rather chill person.

Until today. Today his chillness flew out the window, hit a semi truck, and died a terrible death. 

His restraint was so frayed it looked like some emo kid's pants; barely held together with safety pins and leftover thread. If one more person so much as _looked_ at him funny, Dick didn’t think he’d be able to stop himself from going full Nightwing on them.

He watched, teeth clenched, as Green Lantern—otherwise known as Hal Jordan, because of course Batman had every League members’ identity on file—gallivanted off with their primary perpetrator.

Dick breathed in deeply through his nose, then exhaled again, determined to ignore the way Superboy was staring at him.

The clone seemed to think he was being subtle or something; examining the detective with those narrowed blue eyes of his.

Dick would probably have to start worrying about that soon, but, at the moment, he didn’t have room in his brain for anything else.

Like how absolutely stupid Green Arrow had been. That was taking up a lot of space in his brain right now.

The Leaguer had taken one look at him and nearly blown his own cover, calling him ‘Dick’ and acting like they’d met before.

Which they technically _had_ met before at one of Bruce’s charity galas, where the older Wayne would act the part of a generous, well meaning drunk.

Dick remembered Oliver Queen, the playboy of Star City, cornering him near the punch stand.

_“Richard? Richard Wayne?” The celebrity had said, adjusting his suit jacket where some woman had been hanging off it. “Is that you?”_

_Dick carefully eyed the other man, making it look like he was merely taking a particularly long swig from his cup. Even at sixteen, when he’d still been operating as Robin, he knew who Queen really was._

_He knew to be wary of him._

_“It’s Richard Wayne-Grayson, actually,” He’d corrected, setting his punch down on the table and offering up his celebrity smile. “But most people call me Dick.”_

_“Oh.” The billionaire hero in disguise didn’t seem sure what to say to that. “How…unfortunate.”_

_Surprisingly, that had actually startled a laugh out of Dick. He ignored the surrounding gala guests, who'd all eyed Queen greedily, as if getting Bruce’s ward to laugh was an achievement. “I don’t mind it.”_

_“Oliver Queen,” The blond stuck out his hand, shaking Grayson’s with a firm but gentle grip. “Though I’m sure you already knew that.”_

_Dick steepled a brow, looking Queen up and down obviously. “I had no idea who you were.”_

_Oliver stared at him, eyes narrowed. After a moment, he said, “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”_

_Dick shrugged, hiding his grin behind another sip of terrible punch._

_“You’re a strange one, aren’t you?”_

_“So my team of psychologists tell me.”_

_This, if anything, only served to make poor Oliver look even more confused. Clearly the man did not understand adolescent sarcasm._

_Dick rolled his eyes, offering the man another smile, “That was a joke. Feel free to laugh.”_

_“Oh. I wasn’t sure, what with your…” The older man gestured vaguely, trailing off. “You know.”_

_Dick, actually, did not know. “What?”_

_Oliver shuffled his feet, staring directly into the teen’s eyes, “How you ended up with Bruce? I just wouldn’t be surprised if you did do some form of therapy.”_

_Dick blinked, having not been the least bit prepared for such a turn in conversation._

_Bruce had never…they’d never…Dick didn’t even think ‘therapy’ had ever been on Bruce’s agenda. It’d certainly never been on Dick’s._

_He could feel the edges of his celebrity persona slipping, like a too-large mask that couldn’t quite stay behind his ears._

_Should he have gotten therapy? Should Bruce have wanted him to get therapy?_

_When Dick refocused, Oliver had already bent down, face level with the younger boy’s. He looked concerned; eyes crinkled down at the corners. “You okay? Need me to, I don’t know, get Bruce or something?”_

_That was actually the last thing he needed._

_At the mention of Bruce, Dick had snapped out of it. Back automatically straightening, he’d fixed a wide smile on his face._

_“Nah, I’m fine. Just thinking about how I need something to go down with this,” He held up his punch, then motioned to the dessert table. Which was very pointedly located as far across the room as he could get from Oliver. “I’ll see you around. Maybe.”_

_“Yeah, kid.” In that moment, the blond had sounded infinitely heavy. Like something about their conversation was weighing him down. “Just…call me if you need anything.”_

_Then the strangest thing had happened. Oliver placed his business card on the table beside them, carefully pointing out which number was his own. “See you ‘round, kid.”_

_Dick was too flabbergasted to even deny the ‘kid’ nickname. He stared at the card on the table, flummoxed as to why Oliver had felt the need to leave it._

_Was the man trying to connect with Bruce or something? Maybe trying to get Dick on his good side for some business deal?_

_He’d spent the rest of the gala wrapped up in his thoughts, barely remembering to shake hands with strangers and smile for the various news anchors following him._

_The one thing he had remembered to do was slip the card into his pocket, hoping Bruce hadn’t spotted the action_.

“Grayson? Hey man, you good?” 

He blinked, startling back into the world around him.

KF was waving a hand in front of his face, lips pulled down into a grimace, “You looked kind of spacey there. Is your leg bothering you?”

Dick had honestly hoped to never think about that night again; to ignore the strange questions Oliver had raised. To ignore the way his own mind had continued to revolve around them weeks afterward. 

Eventually, Dick had told Bruce about his interaction with Oliver Queen, but never about the proffered business card. Grayson had kept that detail to himself.

After that, Bruce had been oddly quiet. It wasn’t until later, when Dick was older, that he realized Oliver Queen was never invited back. He hadn’t even had another conversation with the man till earlier on the roof.

It was strange, seeing the archer again. And it was especially strange seeing him in costume.

(It’d also been rather nice to be recognized after all this time, even if Dick would never admit it).

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

After the two green-themed heroes had flown off into the sunset (technically a cloudy Bludhaven sky) with Dick’s criminal (again, technically not Dick’s criminal), the remaining officers slowly trickled back into the police department.

Only when Dick, the Young Justice team, and McKibben were left, did the commissioner finally speak.

“I have…a favour, to ask of you,” She turned to Aqualad, hands clenched in front of her. “One of your team members is already at the hospital, correct?”

“Miss Martian is,” Superboy answered for his leader. “She said she’d stay with the witness.”

Griffin nodded, “Would your team object to keeping an eye on another invalid? I realize it would mean staying at the hospital overnight, but, with the mole investigation, I don’t want any of my officers there.”

“We are at your disposal,” Aqualad said, expression solemn. “Who would you have us watch? Ida?”

“Sniper.”

Dick snapped his head up at the mention of the man, opening his mouth to speak, but Griffin beat him to it.

“I know you want to be the first to interrogate him, detective. I know sticking you with vacation time seems like an odd choice at this point in time, but just hear me out.”

Dick gave a brisk nod, not trusting his voice at that moment.

“Thank you,” The commissioner turned back to Kaldur. “Until Detective Grayson’s vacation time is over, I don’t want anyone interrogating Sniper. Trust me when I say the only person fit for this task is Grayson. He’s the only one who will get you any real results.”

Grayson refused to acknowledge the warm and disgustingly fuzzy feelings the commissioner’s words were giving him.

He was fully expecting the team to object and question the commissioner’s leadership, but, to his surprise, Aqualad simply nodded.

“I agree, commissioner. Though I hope you won’t mind us working on other leads concerning the vigilante case.”

 _Oh, right_. Grayson winced. He’d rather forgotten—what, with everything else going on—that the Young Justice team was here to expose him.

Or, at least, to expose Nightwing.

“Then we’re in agreement? You will post a guard on Sniper, make sure there’s no foul play?”

Aqualad looked at his teammates, as if silently posing the commissioner’s question to them.

Some sort of exchange must’ve passed between them all, because Kaldur gave an affirmative, “Yes, we are agreed. We will figure out a schedule rotation.”

“Excellent,” Griffin clapped her hands together, nearly startling Dick over the roof’s edge. “Now, much as I enjoy our lengthy chats, I do actually have a job to do.”

“We should get moving as well. Miss Martian is probably wondering where we are,” Aqualad said, the barest trace of a smile curling his lips.

As a group, they entered the precinct and descended the stairs.

Outside the commissioner’s office, before Griffin went back inside, the woman paused in front of Dick.

“I know these next few days will be difficult for you,” She placed a hand on his shoulder, his entire body tensing beneath the touch. “But please know I will always pick up when you call.”

Dick was all too aware of the heroes barely a stone’s throw away, quietly staring at the floor to give them some semblance of privacy.

“Right,” He carefully maneuvered his way out from under her grip, offering what he hoped was an encouraging smile. “I know.”

The commissioner studied him for a moment, her conflicted expression reminding him of Oliver at the gala, all those years ago.

“I’ll see you in a week, detective. Hopefully talk to you soon,” Again, another soul-searching look, and then she was gone. The office door closed behind her, almost too loud in the ensuing silence. 

Dick frowned at the wooden panelling in front of him. _Why did authority figures keep saying that to him?_ Did he have a sign attached to his back that said, ‘worry about me’? Maybe the word ‘helpless’ stamped to his forehead?

Besides, a part of him—a really, really deep part of him—knew that they wouldn’t pick up if he called. Why would they?

He wasn’t their kid. He wasn’t their ward, their son, or even their friend. So why on earth would they pick up the phone if it was his name on the caller ID?

A memory came, unbidden, to his mind: Dick, around sixteen or seventeen, waiting in the rain after his high school graduation ceremony. He still remembered the way he’d clenched his valedictorian speech in his hands, watching ink run down his arms in tiny rivulets.

He’d known that Bruce probably wouldn’t be able to make it, even though Dick had told him weeks in advance. He’d also known that Bruce was proud of him for even making valedictorian, just like he’d known the man would never so to his face.

Dick, perhaps strongest of all, remembered the way he’d slipped Oliver’s card out of his pocket, smoothing out the crinkled edges. The number was still there, barely legible after getting carried around for a few years.

He remembered how he’d been so, _so_ tempted to call. Just to hear—

Dick snapped himself back to the present, tearing his gaze away from the commissioner’s door and pinching at the bridge of his nose.

To hear what? Dick himself didn’t even know what he’d wanted to hear then. He’d probably just been acting like some needy teenager, whining about how his surrogate, crime-kicking father couldn’t give him a ride home. 

_Pathetic_.

If Bruce was too busy to pick up his calls, to come to his high school grad, then there was no way Griffin or Green Arrow would be any different.

He clenched his fist, slowly working it open and closed as he tried to shut down his current thought process.

Seeing Oliver—no, seeing _Mr. Queen_ —after all this time was probably just dredging up old memories. That, combined with the explosion and blood loss, was giving him a nice walk down memory lane, no biggie.

He could handle this.

Dick inhaled harshly once, then again, before turning back to the heroes.

Aqualad, Superboy, and Artemis were off to the side, talking quietly amongst themselves. From the sound of it, they were working out a schedule for watching Sniper at the hospital.

Only KF had noticed his little…whatever that was. 

Flashback? Memory? Dick didn’t even know what to call it.

The speedster was watching him from behind those stupid goggles of his, arms crossed over his blindingly yellow chest. “You good, man?”

“Dandy,” Dick managed to bite out. “I’m leaving. If you want a ride, make it snappy.”

Without waiting for a response, he strode out of the department, not bothering to check if they followed.

Had he bothered, the detective would’ve seen the heroes staring at his departing back, their faces an odd mix of concern and perplexity.

“Detective Sourpuss seem extra moody to you?” The speedster finally asked. “Like, moody with a side of extreme angst?”

Their leader watched where the detective had disappeared to. “We should keep an eye on him these next few days. For the case, of course.”

“Right,” Artemis murmured, “For the case. Definitely not because we’re worried about the guy.”

“Nope!” Wally gave them one of his signature smiles, though it seemed a little wobbly. “Definitely not worried about the guy. No worries here!”

Superboy grunted, like he’d reached the limit of BS he was willing to take from his teammates. “We should go, before he leaves us behind.”

“I would not put such a move past him at the moment,” Kaldur agreed. “Let us go.”

_~~~~~~~~~~~~~~_

Dick slammed the door of his police cruiser shut, sliding into the familiar seat and resting his forehead on the steering wheel.

In the quiet of the vehicle, as he waited for the slow-poke heroes to come, the wall of exhaustion he’d been dodging for the past week finally caught up with him.

His whole body sagged; eyes drifting closed of their own accord. He was a lot more tired than he’d thought.

_Maybe…maybe this whole mandated vacation thing would be good for him. Maybe he could—_

The passenger seat flew open, a blonde and green blur barreling inside. “I told you I called shotgun, Flash Child! Just try and take it from me now.” Artemis, the blur in question, snapped her seatbelt into place.

KF appeared moments later, immediately opening his mouth and starting some dumb argument.

Aqualad and Superboy approached much slower, silently getting into the back of the cruiser. Dick wanted to hug them; he didn’t think he could handle anymore loud heroes right now.

He blinked, that last thought half startling him out of his daze. He must be a lot more tired than he thought if he was considering embracing superheroes.

KF finally conceded defeat and hopped in the back, leaving a smug looking Artemis up front with Dick.

Soon as the speedster’s seatbelt was in place, he began badgering the woman again. Artemis didn’t seem to mind, whipping around in her seat to exchange insults with him.

 _What a weird way to flirt_ , Dick thought absently as he flicked his turning signal on.

But after five minutes of listening to them argue, he’d had enough.

He dialed up some random radio station, hoping they’d take the hint and shut their mouths.

The two persisted, barely taking note of the sound.

Dick made eye contact with Aqualad in the overhead mirror, quirking an eyebrow as if to say _You live with this?_

The Atlantean mouthed something that could either be interpreted as _Fried fish kebabs_ or _This isn’t even the worst of it_.

Dick figured it was the latter. Though with an Atlantean…who knew.

Sighing, he flicked the volume up until the meaningless lyrics bounced around the inside his skull.

Artemis said something that he couldn’t make out, so he looked her dead in the eye and turned the volume up even more. _Just try talking now, quiver girl_.

She huffed like she could hear his thoughts, but settled into her seat all the same.

Finally, there was no more talking. They drove the rest of the way to the hospital with the radio blaring.

When they arrived, Dick wordlessly dumped them on the curb, gave a half-hearted salute, and put the car in drive again.

He had a date with his bed and no way was he missing it.

The apartment complex looked even shabbier than usual in the day, sunlight catching its many flaws and drawing them out.

Dick barely managed to drag himself up the stairs, the throb of his leg increasing with every step. He thought the old lady next door said something to him, but he was too busy trying not to pass out to notice.

Finally, he shimmied his keys into the lock and wrenched the door open, not even having the energy to slam it behind him. Tossing them into the tangled key bowl on his slanted entryway table—unsure if they made it in and not caring if they didn’t—he practically floated towards the bedroom door.

It was almost as if his bed were calling him, beckoning from the realm of sleep.

 _Yeah_ , Dick rubbed a hand over his eyes. _He really was out of it_.

Before he had time to blink, he’d collapsed on the mattress, still wearing his dirty police uniform and heavy boots. Dick heaved a sigh.

Tuning out the ache of his body and the persistent, nagging pain in his leg, he fell asleep on top of the covers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *gasp* Is this me??? Actually updating on time???????? In THIS economy?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?!?
> 
> Ngl I have no idea how I wrote this so fast. My fingers were possessed and it just _happened_. I did try to edit this chapter, so if there's any stupid mistakes they are 100% my lazy a$$ fault. Feel free to burn me at the stake if ya find any ✌
> 
> Thank you for reading! And for the kudos and comments! You're all so nice and I don't know what to do about it ;-;
> 
> Have a great week! 
> 
> ~ASL


	20. A Burning Encounter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> So one day I was chillin outside; everything's all peaceful and then _wham_ , outta nowhere my brother just threw a rock at my face and gave me a black eye. This chapter kinda goes down like that 
> 
> Hope you like angst because ohboy we've got it in spades ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

Dick spent the first few days of his Griffin-imposed isolation completely asleep.

He’d managed to sleep through the rest of the day, an entire night, and the majority of the following afternoon.

Upon waking, he felt simultaneously amazing and like he’d just gotten run over by a bullet train.

Groggily, he’d managed to drag himself out of bed and do some basic human things. Like eating. And peeing. And stretching that persistent kink out of his neck by doing handstands against his living room wall until all the blood rushed to his head.

Perhaps that last one wasn’t quite so basic, but at least the stiff sensation in his joints was finally gone.

Then Dick had changed the bandages on his leg and arm, poked at the stitches as if the action would somehow make them heal faster, and promptly passed out on the couch.

Evidently, he was a _lot_ more tired than he’d thought and his body was now aggressively punishing him for it.

Day three (or two? He was already losing track), he did some light training, stared forlornly at a stack of case files propping up the wobbly leg of his coffee table, and passed out on his bed.

Day four (three???) Dick cleaned his kitchen counter for the first time since he’d moved in, unsubscribed from a Gotham news site, had three beers and a suspicious looking ham sandwich, then renewed his subscription to said Gotham news site.

Alcohol made his willpower crumble and he really should stop buying it.

He did a considerably more intense fitness regiment—while still buzzing from the beers—and pleasantly noticed that his leg no longer felt like hell.

The regiment didn’t tear any stitches either, so that was a plus.

Then, for the first time in an extremely long while, he’d actually done his nightly routine and fallen asleep before midnight.

It was a miracle. A sign of divine influence. Peace on Earth and all that jazz.

That is, until he started dreaming.

He was standing on a windswept roof, the smog above, accompanied by the faint scent of rotting eggs, cluing him in to the location of his surroundings.

Gotham. He was in Gotham, standing on top of the national bank in his Nightwing suit.

He’d technically never been to Gotham as Nightwing, but he was also technically asleep, so...dream logic.

Warm wind ruffled his hair as he scuffed the bank roof with a re-enforced toe. As far as his dreams went, this was shaping up to be one of the relatively tamer ones.

“You killed me.”

The voice was young. Hoarse, like they’d been screaming.

He turned, heart sinking into his stomach when he realized who it was.

A young girl stood behind him, flames licking up the skirt of her tiny dress, skin red and blistered. “You killed me,” She said again. There was a flickering orange ring in her gaze, like she was staring into a wildfire.

All the sudden, Dick knew who the girl was; someone he’d failed to save. A long list of many.

Too many.

He’d never learned her name, didn’t know if any of her family had survived. Didn’t even know if she was a real person or just a crude persona conjured up by his tired mind.

He blinked smoke out of his eyes— _where was the smoke coming from? Was there a fire?_ —and suddenly she was in front of him, a burning hot hand clamped to his forearm.

“You _killed_ me.” Her voice was barely a whisper, but it filled every corner of his skull, echoed in his head until it was all he could hear. _You killed me you killed me you killed me you killed me you killed—_

 _Oh_ , he thought rather belatedly, _this isn’t a dream_.

It was a nightmare.

Then she was burning, sparking. The city scape was on fire and there were colours among the roiling tongues of flame. A canary yellow speedster; the green skin of a Martian; a glimpse of a quiver; Atlantean tattoos; and the red-black symbol of Kryptonian hope. The fire was so hot it was cold, flaring. Ashes.

And as he watched them burn, Dick burned from the inside too.

. . .

He jolted awake, sucking in a massive breath as his lungs stuttered to keep up.

Fumbling in the dark, he finally found the pull string of the lamp on his bedside table—which wasn’t really a table, just an overturned plastic crate—and light flooded the room.

Dick pushed the blanket off and swung his legs over the side of the bed, ignoring how they still couldn’t quite reach the floor.

He yanked the sleeve of his shirt back, feeling the phantom print of the nightmare girl on his skin. There was nothing but a raised burn scar, one he couldn’t even remember getting.

Sighing, he ran a hand down his tired face and looked at his clock. A disgusting _3:02 AM_ blinked balefully back at him.

With a grunt, he fell back onto the mattress, still rubbing at the skin of his arm. He wondered if that girl was real. If he really had failed to save her. _Everything was burning—_

He growled, pushing up to his feet and hopping off the bed, staring at the wrinkled sheets like they’d personally offended him. A shapeless form hanging over the bedframe caught his eye, resembling spilt ink in the semi-darkness.

His suit. The same one that’d just been on fire in his dream.

With one more glance at his forearm, as if to reassure himself there really was nothing there, he snatched up his costume and stalked out of the bedroom.

No more trying to sleep. No more stupid night terrors. No more burning Young Justice or fiery little girls.

It looked like Nightwing would be making an appearance tonight after all.

* * *

He stood outside the hospital, his suit snuggly disguised under a pair of civilian clothes; a loose, high collared white tee and tan cargo pants. Both would (hopefully) help with the lie he was about to try and pull off.

Running over his cover story one more time, he ambled up the hospital steps and threw the door open, the sound attracting the attention of a late-night receptionist.

She blinked at him blearily from behind a pair of thick, rhinestone glasses. If her career as a night shift paper-pusher didn’t work out, the woman would make a great librarian. She certainly had the looks for it.

Dick hurried forward, smoothing the front of his shirt as if self-conscious about it. _He_ wasn’t, but the character he was trying to play could be.

“Oh—” Dick squinted at the woman’s name tag, “—Jane! I just managed to get out of the house. The children, you see, they wouldn’t sleep.” He rested his elbows on the counter, slumping effectively against it.

The receptionist—Jane—blinked, looking him up and down. “…The…children?”

He shot her a funny look, like he couldn’t tell if she was being serious or not. “My kids, Jane! I was just telling you about them the other day.” While she was still staring at him, utterly confused, his hand snaked towards the back of her monitor. “Don’t tell me you’ve already forgotten.”

Clearly, she had no idea what he was talking about. The woman was a midnight receptionist at a public Bludhaven hospital; there was no way she’d remember some random man rambling about his family.

Which is exactly what Dick had been banking on.

He widened his eyes, pressing one hand against his chest as the other slipped a small, magnetized device to the monitor’s back. “You forgot, didn’t you. Of course, why would you remember little old—”

“No,” The woman said, falling into his trap hook, line, and sinker. Dick really should have gone into the arts. He would’ve made a fantastic actor. “I-I do remember you. Erm, Kevin, right?”

He beamed at her, ignoring the obviously made-up name. Although there was no way she could know his real one, given that he’d never talked to her before. “Henry, actually, but you were close.”

Jane let out a relieved breath, like she’d just dodged a bullet. “How are your children, Henry?”

Dick affected a tired grimace, easy to accomplish with his current mental state. With a quick switch of a button, the device he’d attached to her monitor blinked once before going dark.

 _Infiltration successful_. He almost pressed his com system to tell Bruce, but then he remembered he didn’t have a com system. Or a Bruce.

“Fine, fine, Jane,” He lied through his teeth. “My oldest is a pain, but what else is new?”

She smiled politely, looking utterly uninterested in their conversation. “And you’re eldest’s name is…?”

Dick blanked, floundering mentally for a name. Any name. “Jason.”

He felt his skin pale as soon as he said it, hands going slack at his sides. He hadn’t thought…..thought about him in a long time. Not since he and Bruce’s big blowout.

It felt odd saying it here, to some random woman who didn’t appreciate the significance of it.

“Right, Jason.” The woman said, still smiling. Obviously she couldn’t hear Dick’s broiling thoughts. “I remember now. Why are you visiting again, Henry?”

He clamped a hand over the scar on his arm, feeling the Nightwing suit shift beneath his shirt. Pulling himself together was tricky, but he’d done it before.

“My, er, wife.” He finally said, hand still clenched. “Yes, my wife’s on the second floor but, silly me, I seem to have forgotten the room number.”

Dick gave her _The Look_ that’d had Alfred sneaking him extra cookies as a child. She stared at him like he was the second coming, so evidently _The Look_ hadn’t lost any of its charm.

“Wha—what’s her name, Henry?” She clicked something on her monitor’s screen, her throat bobbing as she swallowed.

“Let me see,” He murmured, leaning even further into her personal space. “I’ll be able to find it sooner than you.”

She obliged, tilting the screen around so he could see it as her cheeks turned an interesting shade of pink. Dick quickly scanned the second-floor plan, knowing they wouldn’t have put Sniper on the first floor.

Less chance of the hitman making a break for it. On the second floor, if he tried to jump out a window, the only thing making a break would be his legs.

Flashing through meaningless numbers and names with calculated precision, he found it: the hospital’s only registered John Doe. Still staring, he quietly filed the room number away and stepped back, fixing Jane with a large smile.

“Excuse me, sir? Henry?” She was arching a brow at him, “Did you find her?”

“Hmm?” He passed his gaze back to the screen again, fixating on the first female name he saw. “Oh, yes, it’s Mrs. Abigail. Right there. Room 312. That’s definitely my wife.”

Jane scrunched her nose at him. “ _Abigail_? She’s sixty-three years old. And on life support.”

Aaaaaaaaaaaaand that was his cue to go.

“Our love knows not the bounds of age!” Dick called over his shoulder, already turning away. Before he disappeared around the corner, he gave the woman one last wave and said a quick, “Thanks, I owe you one.”

She didn’t call after him, so Dick assumed he was in the clear.

He allowed himself three seconds of satisfaction before scanning the hallway corners for a camera. Spotting one, he ducked into its blind spot and booted up his holo glove.

The bug he’d planted on Jane’s computer had already cracked the hospital’s flimsy security system, displaying laughing little Robins in a clear sign of victory.

He really ought to change them now that he was Nightwing. If someone saw a smirking cartoon Robin on the new vigilante’s screen, it might leave them with a few uncomfortable questions.

For some reason, though, Dick kept finding new excuses not to get rid of them.

Grinning to himself in the darkness, with a few quick taps of a button he had the camera’s feeding themselves a constant loop. If anyone reviewed the footage of tonight, all they’d see were empty halls and flickering shadows.

With that finished, he ducked into the nearest janitor’s closet and shucked off his shirt and pants, exposing the sleek black suit beneath. Fixing his domino mask in place, he ruffled his hair until it was nothing like the gelled look he had at work, then slipped back into the hallway.

This was either a very good or absolutely terrible idea, but, either way, nothing short of a hurricane would stop him now.

* * *

The elevator. The elevator was definitely stopping him.

Or it was at least slowing him down. He’d stood outside the metallic silver doors for nine minutes before they finally rolled open, revealing a stout elderly woman wearing a patient’s smock.

They stared at each other for a moment, her grip tightening on the oxygen pole beside her, before Dick remembered he was supposed to be stepping inside.

“Evening ma’am,” He said, taking up a position at the far end of the elevator. He leaned over, pressing the second-floor button with a gloved finger and trying to ignore the feel of her staring at him. “I, uh, lost a bet.”

“Some bet,” She murmured, eyeing him a little _too_ appreciatively.

Dick stepped out as soon as the elevator dinged open, overly aware of the way her gaze followed him. What was it about him that left old women practically salivating?

He ducked around a corner, keeping a watchful eye on the passing room numbers before finally finding the one he was looking for.

His leg twinged slightly as he bent to pick the lock, but the stitches held fine. It was just his healing skin stretched a little too far.

There were those three satisfying _clicks_ and he felt the door give, sliding soundlessly inward. Stalking over the threshold, he allowed his eyes to adjust to the darkness within, blinking until he could make out the room’s various shapes.

A figure sat hunched over next to the hospital bed, their slim form almost indiscernible in the gloom. Dick stepped around them, eyeing the patient lying prone on the bed.

Ida rested among the pillows, the white fabric washing out her skin. The witnesses’ chest rose and fell in time with that of her Martian bodyguard’s, the heart monitor beside them beeping along rhythmically.

Gently, he smoothed a strand of dusty hair her out of Ida’s face, committing her uninjured state to memory.

The recollection of the burning girl in his dream had his hand snapping back, but this was one person he had managed to save. At least one person who was still alive because of him.

When he’d seen Ida’s name on the receptionist’s monitor, he hadn’t been able to resist the pull of visiting her room. Making sure she was okay.

And maybe some selfish part of him had wanted reassurance that his role as a vigilante had _meaning_ , but was that really so bad?

Miss Martian shifted, murmuring something that sounded suspiciously like “Conner?” and Dick decided it was time to go. He could always visit Ida later, when he wasn’t dressed as the Justice League’s current most-wanted vigilante.

Giving the witness one last once over, he melted into the darkness. The _click_ of a door being re-locked the only sign of his exit.

He did not see Miss Martian sit up, suddenly looking extremely wakeful. Almost like she’d been faking her slumber.

He did not see her press a finger to her temple, eyes flaring toxic green. Her voice filled the stillness, “Guys? He’s here.”

. . .

Sniper’s room was significantly darker, the curtains around his bed shuttered and the blinds drawn. Dick had been suspecting a tad bit more confrontation, so he was rather surprised to find the room otherwise empty.

And, with M’gann asleep in the other room, there wouldn’t be any invisible Martians lurking around this time.

Absently wondering if he should play good-vigilante or bad-vigilante, Dick pulled back the curtain and sidled up to the hospital cot.

Sniper, now without his mask, looked quite a bit younger than he had when Dick knee-capped him. Twin casts stuck out from under the blanket, their lumpiness causing the man to lay awkwardly sprawled on his back.

Paired with the gleaming metal cuffs shackling him to the bed, to say the man looked uncomfortable would be a gross understatement. Despite that, he was sound asleep.

Though he wouldn’t be for much longer if Dick had anything to do with it.

“Alright man,” He snapped his fingers next to the hitman’s ears. “Wakey-wakey. Time to face the consequences of your actions.”

Sniper snorted once, twice, then continued sleeping.

“Now that’s just rude.” Dick snapped his fingers one more time before giving up and jabbing them into the man’s knee.

The hitman reared up, groaning in pain and confusion as the heart monitor beside his bed went berserk. “Wh-what? Who—”

Then Sniper finally caught sight of the figure looming over him and went still, recognition flaring in his bloodshot eyes. “Oh, shi—”

“Ah, ah, ah,” Dick waggled a gloved finger at the man. “There’re children present.”

Sniper frowned, glancing carefully around the darkened room as if fully expecting a vigilante child to fly out at him. When no infants attacked, he turned his searching gaze on Dick. “Where?”

“I was referring to your own state of emotional maturity, actually,” He answered pleasantly, watching as the quip flew over the man’s head.

Either they’d hopped Sniper up on enough drugs to make the man’s brain fly the coop, or the hitman was naturally this stupid.

Sniper moved his knee in an attempt to hop off the hospital bed and no doubt make a daring escape, but let loose a barrage of curses as his cast shifted.

…naturally stupid it was.

“Do you know who I am?” Dick asked curiously, watching as the man flopped pathetically back onto the cot. He tried to keep his tone conversational; relaxed.

They were technically on a tight schedule (who knew what the team was planning? Or when they’d storm in with metaphorical guns-a-blazing?), but Sniper didn’t need to know that.

“’Course I know who you are,” The man’s face twitched venomously, the expression rather offset by the drugged-up haze in his eyes. “You’re Batman’s little bitc—”

“Remember the children,” Dick tsked, though his tone was significantly less friendly. “And who said I was working with Batman?”

Sniper glanced around, like he’d find the answer written on the nearby walls. “People talk, and he told me. Told me everything. He said…said I was supposed to draw you out, wait for you to show up.” He grimaced suddenly, rubbing his sweat-slicked forehead. “I don’t know why I’m telling you this. Is it hot in here?”

“That’d be the morphine.” The vigilante flicked one the of the bags suspended overhead. “They’ll probably keep you full of the stuff with injuries like that.”

“Mo-rph-ine,” Sniper giggled. “I like morphine.”

Dick grimaced. “That makes one of us. Now, who is ‘he’? I’m really not in the mood to play the pronoun game tonight.”

“And _I’m_ really not supposed to tell you that.” The man’s grin stretched to unhealthy proportions. “He just said to wait at the warehouse for you to arrive. I was supposed to kill the kids and wait at the warehouse. Those were my instructions.”

“The kids?” Dick sobered at the memory of the ‘Gang’ lying broken on the floor, soaking in rusted puddles of their own blood. Just a few more people he hadn’t been able to save. His guilt was really beating him up tonight, wasn't it? “Why’d you have to kill them?”

“Venom,” Sniper’s voice was deadly serious. “They’re making a different Venom. Wasn’t perfect then, but it probably is now. They were looking for one more ingredient. That’s why I had to kill your partner. It was very important I go for your partner. Venom.”

“There is no more Venom serum.” From what Batman—and, by extension, Robin—had learned, the Venom stint had been handled by the junior Justice League.

Not handled very well, per se, but handled all the same.

It’d been nasty stuff, turning people into monsters and augmenting their bodies. For this mysterious ‘he’ to be using it again, experimenting with it even, meant he had some pretty serious villain connections.

Dick ran through a quick mental list of nefarious organizations, knocking them off as he went. None of them _fit_. None of them would do things this way; operate with such targeted obscurity.

“And your employer, the man in charge. Who is he?”

Sniper squinted one eye at him, grinning like he’d just given away some kind of clue. “If I told," He swayed, fingers splaying to keep him from toppling off the bed, "-told you that, I ‘d be dead.”

Dick smiled a very unpleasant smile. “Sniper, Sniper, Sniper. Do you fancy your arms?” He let his masked eyes linger the man’s bulked forearm. “Or how about your fingers? Toes? Any taksies?”

The actual thought of maiming the hitman—even though Sniper was clearly not a good person—still made bile coat his teeth.

But the hitman obviously didn’t know that, judging by the way his nostrils flared, his drugged face slowly morphing into an expression of horrified surprise.

“N-no,” The man whispered, wrapping his arm around himself. “Please.”

Dick deflated, letting the bad guy act drop. “Good, because I really didn’t want to have to hurt you.”

 _Anymore than I already have_ , he added silently, eyeing the man’s wrapped knees.

“But for this to work,” He continued, forcefully pulling his gaze away, “You need to talk to me. Or your arms will be pay the ultimate price. Got it?”

Oof. That'd sounded a lot better in his head. How did Bruce keep such a straight face while doing this?

Sniper didn’t even pretend to think about it. “Of course. I just-I really can’t tell you who my employer is. It’s against the code, you know?”

Dick, fortunately, wasn’t overly familiar with mercenary code, but he nodded anyway. He was honestly surprised Sniper was being this compliant, though the man’s cooperation was likely due to the drugs pumping through his system.

“I understand,” He patted Sniper’s arm automatically as he silently reorganized his thoughts.

Every question mattered in times like this, and, going by Sniper’s increasingly dazed expression, Dick didn’t have much time left. “So your orders were to wait at the warehouse, kill the Venom kids, kill my partner, but leave me. Why?”

“Because he likes you,” Sniper whispered. “He knows everything about you, pinned it all on a wall. Ribbons connecting red ribbons. He says it’s your favourite colour. Knows who you are, though he wouldn’t tell me.”

That more or less matched Copperhead's disturbing answers, too. It was difficult not to appear unsettled, especially when Dick was feeling incredibly unsettled about everything in those last couple sentences.

Someone had figured out his secret identity, had a _wall_ filled with his personal information. A Gotham native villain didn’t make sense then. None of them, to his knowledge, knew he was still operating. They thought he’d gone into retirement after…Jason.

“Whoever hired you is obsessed with me. Duly noted,” He murmured, trying to push past the chill seizing him at his core.

Sniper nodded, looking increasingly more out of it with every passing second.

“And you think they completed the Venom?” Dick asked, eyeing the man carefully for any signs of deceit.

Again, a bleary nod.

“That can’t be good,” The vigilante said into the darkness. “And you’re not going to tell me anything else? Nothing?”

Sniper lifted a trembling hand, covering his right eye and laughing like he’d just mimed the world’s funniest joke.

“Thanks for that,” Dick adjusted his belt even though he knew it wasn’t in need of adjusting. “Now, you’re just going to go back to sleep and let the morphine make this all seem like a bad dream. Nighty-night, Snipe.”

He wouldn't be getting anymore information out of him in Sniper's current state. Not tonight, anyhow. 

“Night night,” The supposedly dangerous mercenary mumbled back, his eyes already slipping closed.

Dick would have to figure out what do about some random villain knowing his identity later. Right now, his mind was a jumbling mess of conspiracies, none of which were making any particular sense.

Biting his lip, he fired up his holo glove and pulled up the hospital security system again. After unlooping the cameras and erasing his presence from the mainframe, he crossed the room on padded feet and pushed open the window.

He offered Sniper’s sleeping form a lazy salute and leapt, a rush of air welcoming him as he fell, stomach plummeting while his centre of gravity shifted.

The whine of his grappling hook broke the night’s stillness, its metal end digging into the hospital trough and yanking him upward.

His leg ached dully as he landed, his mostly healed arm throbbing in time with that ache. Gun injuries, even just grazes, did not heal half as quickly as Hollywood would have their audience believe. Dick had learned that lesson the hard way.

But the familiar rush of falling had made everything worth it.

He was weightless, then clambering over the roof’s edge, hopping to his feet as he rubbed at the pain in his thigh.

Silence, just the night wind, then—

The back of his neck prickled, every high-strung nerve in his body whispering _turn around!!!_ There was a swish, like fabric snapping in the wind, and Dick’s breath caught as his ears perked.

He spun soundlessly on his heel, sliding the escrima sticks into his hand as he assumed a ready position. Half-expecting to find the junior Justice League’s arrogant speedster or meddling Martian, he almost toppled over in surprise when he came face-to-face with something far, far worse.

Dark black suit; billowing cape; a familiar horned cowl. The figure was wreathed in shadows, almost like the night was clinging to him, but Dick knew exactly who it was.

“Batman,” He breathed out, feeling a shudder run through his chest as his fingers began to tremble. Or perhaps it was his whole body, shaking like a leaf under the force of that lethal glare.

He was here. Batman was here. _Bruce_ was here, in Bludhaven. In Dick’s last remaining safe haven.

He felt the raised scar on his arm, registered the pain in his thigh. Pain. That meant he wasn't sleeping, then. For once, he wished this was all just another nightmare.

More than anything, Dick wished he could wake up.

And, as his cheek flared with a phantom bruise and the world seemed to shift around him; as the small part of himself that’d slowly begun to heal this past year died all over again, Dick felt the final threads of his composure

 _snap_.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> *dodges the random objects you're probably chucking at me* I apologize for the cliffhanger! This chapter was just already so frackin long (and late!!) so I couldn't wait any longer!!!!!!!@#@##$%^
> 
> That, and I like to watch y'all suffer 😎 
> 
> *dodges a chair* (kidding, kidding, please don't kill me)
> 
> Also, if anybody caught any mistakes I'd seriously love to know. I had zero time to edit, so extra eyes would be greatly 'preciated <3
> 
> ~ASL


	21. A Martian Begins to Scheme (Alternatively: The Power of F@ckin Friendship is Awakened)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Miss Martian asks some very uncomfortable questions. No asparagus were harmed in the making of this chapter.
> 
> (TW: Mild implications of Batman being horrible, but nothing graphic)

M’gann’s eyes had just begun to slip closed—despite her best efforts to stay awake—when she’d heard three succinct _clicks_. The sound of a lock being picked.

The Martian had gone instantly boneless, sagging against Ida’s hospital cot and trying to mimic fitful slumber. Closing her eyes, she focused on making her chest rise and fall in sync with Ida’s, the heart monitor beeping along beside them.

There was the faint creak of the door opening, then silence. Not even a whisper of fabric.

She was just starting to think that whoever it was had given up, when her telepathy picked up on a presence to her left. M’gann couldn’t read their mind, but she could feel them; feel their thoughts on the edge of her consciousness.

Cracking an eye open, she caught sight of a looming figure on the fringes of her peripheral vision.

Clothed in black, they blended in with the darkness around them so completely that, at first, M’gann thought she was seeing things. But no, there was definitely a person there, and the person was definitely the vigilante they’d been looking for.

She clenched her hands into tight fists as the figure loomed over Ida, the unconscious woman’s expression serene as she slept.

And then the vigilante’s gloved hand was stretching out nimble fingers towards the witness. M’gann was expecting violence, a fist perhaps but—he stroked the woman’s hair, gently brushing it out of her face.

M’gann was…flabbergasted.

She’d felt his hand tremble against her throat at their fist meeting, when he’d tossed a smoke bomb to escape the precinct. Even without the use of her Martian mindreading, she’d felt the reluctance with which he had threatened her.

Watching him gently push back Ida’s hair, she knew in her heart there was no way he’d killed those kids. No way he could possibly have sanctioned the Gang’s murder.

Now, all she had to do was find a way to prove it.

Nightwing—she remembered he’d called himself Nightwing—stared at Ida for a moment longer, those masked eyes seeming to linger on the woman’s unharmed form.

M’gann steeled herself, opening a connection between her and the Team. _“Conner?”_ She thought loudly, only to jolt when the words came spilling out of her mouth.

Oh no. Oh no, no, no. The Martian repressed the urge to bury her face in her hands.

 _Stupid_ , she cursed internally. _Stupid, stupid, stupid._ Her exhaustion must be getting to her if she was making such a rookie mistake.

Her skin crawled as she felt that masked gaze rove her face, but whatever Nightwing saw seemed unsuspicious enough.

There was a moment of stillness, the watchful kind of stillness when all the occupants of a room are trying to be quiet, then the _click_ of a lock sliding back into place.

She was waiting a few more minutes, just to be sure he really was gone, when Conner’s hesitant voice filler her mind, _“Meg?”_

 _“He’s here,”_ She breathed out, both in her mind and audibly. The room echoed with the weight of her words and M’gann had to shove the guilt down.

Whatever strange moment she’d witnessed, whatever remorseful emotions Nightwing was experiencing, he was still consciously going against the law.

Still the person they were supposed to bring in. She could try and prove his innocence, but in the end he was still an illegal vigilante.

 _“Nightwing’s here,”_ She said again, feeling as much as hearing her boyfriend’s grunt of understanding. _“I’ll keep him busy till you arrive.”_

Then the Martian stood, and her skin began to change.

* * *

Wally was on his sixth _(6)_ pizza when Conner swiped the piece the speedster had been munching on out of his hand.

They’d been taking a break from guarding Sniper while Artemis and Kaldur checked in with Tornado, via video screen, back at the apartment.

After several days of literally _nothing_ happening, Wally had started going stir-crazy at the thought of staying in the hospital another night. So M’gann had agreed to stay behind and guard their charges while Conner and the speedster went out for a pizza run.

Kaldur had put Conner in charge after wisely deciding Wally and Artemis would tear each other to bits, either verbally or physically, if forced to share the same air any longer. And, so, Artemis had gone with Kaldur while Wally was babysat by their very own Kryptonian clone.

Now they were squatted in an alley, still wearing their costumes, next to _Bludhaven’s Best Pizzeria: We Have Asparagus!_

Which didn’t seem like a very great selling point to Wally, but maybe Bludhaven residents had a thing for asparagus. On pizza.

Maybe it was good to try new things every now and then?

He stared at the green flecks dotting the cheese of his remaining piece. Screw that. It was a travesty. His tongue felt unclean.

“I was eating that, you know.” He said, eyeing the asparagus-covered-travesty-pizza Conner had swatted out of his hand. Even if it tasted like balls, it was still food. “Cost me forty bucks.”

“Cost _me_ forty bucks,” Conner grumbled without any real malice. “And we have to go. M’gann just contacted me and said the vigilante’s at the hospital.”

His teammate’s frantic actions were suddenly making a lot more sense. Conner would burn in hell for M’gann.

Or just eat an asparagus pizza. Same difference, if you asked Wally.

“How do you wanna do this?” He asked Conner.

Superboy growled—literally _growled_ —at him, “Run, stupid. Carry me.”

“O-oh,” Wally muttered. “Right.”

Bending, he allowed the substantially sized superhero to hop on his back like some koala on steroids. Without his metahuman muscles and general awesomeness, Wally never would’ve been able to do it.

As it was, they made it to the hospital on the other side of town in less than two minutes.

* * *

A voice in his head almost had him tripping over his own feet.

Conner, who was less than a few steps ahead of him as they sprinted up the hospital’s indoor staircase (Wally had made him get off; there was no way he was lugging a gorilla-sized man up eight flights of steps, metahuman muscles or not), increased his already wild pace.

_“I’m going to distract him, guys. Try and rope him into a conversation.”_

_“Careful,”_ Conner warned as he leapt up another set of steps, taking them three at a time like some lovestruck antelope. Koalas, gorillas, and now antelope? Wally had to stop watching Discovery Channel. _“Where are you?”_

 _“The roof,”_ M’gann’s mental tone sounded steady, but there was an undercut of panic in it that had Wally clenching his teeth.

Sure, he wasn’t the Martian’s boyfriend, but he still cared for her. Cared for everyone on their team in some form or another.

 _“Following him to the roof—meet me there!”_ And then her presence was withdrawing from their minds, hovering on the fringe for when they needed to communicate again.

Wally shot back a grunt of mental confirmation, too winded from carrying Conner to use actual words.

The door to the hospital helly landing pad was locked, but the weak steel crumpled like aluminium beneath Conner’s desperate fist.

They paused for a moment to listen before hurrying out onto the roof, keeping their footsteps light as possibly. Then Conner froze so abruptly that Wally almost slammed into him, barely managing to stop himself at the last second.

Peeking around the super’s massive shoulder, Wally understood the other man’s hesitation.

Standing with his back to them, arms hanging loosely at his sides, was Nightwing. The vigilante stood silhouetted against the city skyline, a hot and dry Bludhaven wind ruffling his dark hair.

That, however, wasn’t what’d surprised them.

For Batman stood on the roof too, his cape fanning out behind him.

 _“…M’gann?”_ Wally mentally cast out.

Even though he was fairly certain the hulking, cowled shape across from them was actually just their friendly neighborhood Martian in disguise, it couldn’t hurt to double check.

The bulging muscles were a little _too_ convincing, if you asked him.

 _“It’s me,”_ M’gann’s—or should he say Batman’s? —face didn’t so much as twitch, but there was no doubt it was her.

 _“Stay back for now,”_ She said after a pause. _“I contacted Aqualad and Artemis. They’re on their way, but hopefully I can distract him till they arrive.”_

Wally gave a quick nod, instantly agreeing with her decision.

It didn’t make sense to engage now when two of their members were missing. Their best chance of success was to keep Nightwing occupied, especially considering they hadn’t been able to beat him last time even with the whole Team.

So Superboy and Kid Flash stood by the access door, surveying the two figures on the rooftop. The younger of the two vigilantes hadn’t noticed them, seemingly too stunned by Batman’s appearance to hear their entrance.

As they watched, it quickly became apparent that something was extraordinarily wrong.

Where Nightwing had been suave confidence and targeted intensity before, poised like a dancer, now he was taut. Tense as a pulled string, his shoulders hunched together.

Wally couldn’t see the vigilante’s face but, judging by the way M’gann (Batman? He still hadn’t figured out what he should call her), took a step back, his expression was nothing good.

Perhaps Tornado’s theory that Nightwing and the Dark Knight were connected had some merit after all. It certainly looked like there was history between them.

“What are you doing here?” His voice was a far cry from the confident lilt it’d been before. Now it was soft, barely audible over the blustery wind.

“What do you mean?”

Wally almost jumped out of his skin when M’gann spoke. Hearing a deep timbre coming from their Martian was strange, to say the least.

She took a step forward, that long black cape catching the wind, and Nightwing retreated in a blur of black and blue.

One minute he was there, and the next he’d stumbled back gracelessly a few steps.

Wally’s brows rose beneath his cowl as he turned to Conner, silently saying, _What the hell?_

Superboy just shrugged in response, but his blue eyes were narrowed thoughtfully.

Something about this whole situation was rubbing him the wrong way, like they only had half a picture. Les _s_ than half a picture, actually.

Like all they had was a tiny corner of a thousand-piece puzzle.

And Wally _hated_ puzzles.

* * *

Miss Martian had been expecting several different reactions to her most recent shift. Fear, terror. Perhaps some mild grovelling or begging.

That had been her reasoning behind becoming Batman; if she looked like Gotham’s most dangerous vigilante, she could intimidate Nightwing into obeying with a single raised brow. Stall him long enough for the rest of the Team to arrive.

Perhaps even rope him into proving his own innocence.

What she had _not_ been expecting was this blank faced man, masked eyes screwed up and body flexed for flight or fight.

She’d taken a step forward and nearly driven Nightwing off the roof. There was definitely a story here and now was the perfect time to figure it out.

Maybe if she could puzzle out more about him tonight, they could cut their assignment short and return home to the Cave early. Conner and her still had some unfinished business…

So M’gann asked her question again, crossing her arms over her chest and trying to exude Manly Vibes™.

What do you mean?” It didn’t quite feel like she was getting the voice right, but with the city sounds surrounding them it shouldn’t make a difference.

‘Sides, what were the chances of Nightwing being on familiar terms with the Batman?

Speaking of, the vigilante seemed to have pulled himself together a bit, unconsciously mirroring her stance and drawing himself to his full height.

Now that he wasn’t in action or projecting arrogance, he looked a lot more…short. It tickled something at the back of her mind, pawing at her memory in a peculiar way.

“I mean, why are you _here_ , B.” He said again, this time a little bolder.

 _B?!_ They were evidently a _lot_ more friendly than she’d originally surmised. But, hopefully, that would mean her next words weren’t out of character.

“Checking on you, obviously.”

Nightwing looked her up and down skeptically and M’gann felt her heart stutter in her chest. _Uh oh._

“You? Mr. ‘I-work-alone’ checking up on little old me? I’m flattered.” His tone was flat, dry. Like he’d rather be sticking his whole hand in a blender than having this conversation. “But I’m also fine. No scratches, no aches, no missing limbs. I’m handling things.”

“I can see that,” M’gann said after a moment of consideration. There were too many thoughts swirling in her mind right now.

Like why Batman would care about some fledgling, run-of-the-mill vigilante? Why would they be on speaking terms? Why would they have _nicknames_ for each other?

_And why was ‘not missing any limbs’ their standard of excellence???_

Shoving the thoughts to the back of her mind where she could sift through them later, she narrowed the lenses of her cowl at him and said, “And what about the Gang? You handling them, too?”

She’d been hoping for adamant denial, perhaps some kind of alibi, but was unpleasantly surprised to see the vigilante’s fists clench at his sides.

“I didn’t mean for that to happen. I couldn’t—" He made a fierce sweeping motion with his hands, like he could find the words he was looking for in the stuffy night air. “I couldn’t do anything.”

The part of M’gann that would always be a helper piped up before she could stop it. “I’m sure you did everything you could.”

His gaze snapped towards her and the Martian knew she’d made some kind of mistake. Strong jaw flexing, he studied her again carefully.

But whatever it was Nightwing was searching for, he seemed incapable of finding. “I guess. You seem…that is…” He cleared his throat. “How’s Alfred?”

_Alfred?_

M’gann risked a glance at Wally and Conner, who were watching their exchange with wide eyes.

 _“Any ideas?”_ She shot at them telepathically, only to have them both shrug in unison.

 _Boys,_ she thought darkly. _Perfectly useless when it comes to a little bit of espionage._

“Good,” M’gann murmured after a brief pause. Alfred could be anything from a pet turtle to another crazy vigilante, so she kept her answer simple.

“That’s…good.” Nightwing said shortly, looking uncomfortable with their conversation. “And…you?”

M’gann blinked, wondering, again, what’d happened to the smooth-talking sass-master they’d seen before.

Compared to then he seemed hesitant, borderline intimidated.

She decided to ignore the question, not having the faintest idea of how _the Batman_ would describe his emotional wellbeing.

“And the Young Justice team? Have they gotten in your way?” It felt odd, talking about her Team in such a passive manner.

But she needed to know what, if anything, he knew about them.

Nightwing relaxed, like discussing the inconvenience of superheroes was somehow more familiar ground than emoting. “Fantastic,” She figured he was rolling his eyes behind the mask. “They’re an inconvenience at best, though they’ve been surprisingly… enjoyable to work with.”

 _“Work with?”_ Wally asked into her mind. _“Since when are we working with him? You guys know something I don’t?”_

M’gann shook her head minutely, not understanding the comment either. “And the mastermind behind the attacks? Are you any closer to ascertaining their identity?”

Nightwing opened his mouth to answer then suddenly paused, his relaxed countenance shattering. “No.” He took another step back, watching M’gann’s every move as if he thought she was going to launch an assault.

“No,” He repeated, almost like he was convincing himself. “We’re not doing this again. I already told you we were on a permanent break and I meant it. So, no, I’m not going back and—” He gestured vaguely, voice tinged with the beginnings of…an accent? “And we’re not partners anymore.”

From the sound of it, the words nearly choked him on their way out. Nightwing swayed, like he’d forgotten how to stand, but quickly settled himself. “I’m not a publicity stunt. Not a charity case, and you already made it clear you don’t ‘do’ family.” He made little finger quotes around the word, his lips twisted in a grimace. “You made that very, very clear.”

M’gann had no idea what she was supposed to be saying right now. One glance told her that Conner and Wally were as stupidly stunned as she was.

Things had taken an extremely personal turn and M’gann felt like she was intruding. Like this moment wasn’t meant for her eyes. Or ears.

Wally’s gaze was pointedly fixed on a chunk of mortar like it was the coolest thing he’d ever seen and Conner, on the other hand, was listening shamelessly with a tight frown on his face.

And Nightwing just stood there, almost undistinguishable against a backdrop of dark smog.

When M’gann remained silent, tongue glued to the roof of her mouth, the vigilante scoffed.

“What? Not going to say anything?” On the surface he sounded angry, but she could hear the different levels of complex hurt beneath his voice. The Martian had to fight back against her natural urge to wrap him in a hug.

She had a feeling getting embraced by the Batman would not be appreciated right now. Nor particularly in keeping with his character.

Nightwing twitched, like his body was torn between storming forward and beating a hasty retreat. “So that’s it? You’re not going to freak out this time?” His tone turned mockingly incredulous, tired. Heavy. “Has the Dark Knight finally found a way to resolve his problems besides slapping them?”

…ah. That explained the odd wincing and calculated distance between them. The urge to wrap him in a hug was so strong now she could actually feel her arms twitching.

She could also feel the anger radiating from her boyfriend, his expression promising violence. Flashes of his time at CADMUS were spilling over the link between them and M’gann had to brace her mind to ignore them.

Now was not the time to get caught up in her boyfriend’s less than stellar memories. Though they’d definitely be discussing extra counselling sessions with Canary later.

Nightwing made an odd sort of snorting scoff, the sound of it a lot shakier than the vigilante had probably intended. “Get out of my city, B.”

Then he turned to leave and M’gann startled, suddenly realizing that, if he turned, he’d see Superboy and Kid Flash silently spectating like two gossip column reporters.

Reeling, she quickly latched onto Red Tornado’s half-formed theory, one that’d slowly been unfolding in her mind, and barked out—

“Robin!”

The gruff sound of it leaving her mouth made her cringe, but it had a much more adverse effect on the vigilante.

His posture snapped, going stiffer than a board. Then he spun around in a such a fluid, motion that M’gann felt like she was supposed to applaud.

She’d been expecting anger, perhaps denial, but saw only lethal and deadly calm. Like those few calculated moments of silence before a lightning strike. “Don’t call me that,” He crossed his arms over his chest, pushing twitching fingers against taut muscles. “Don’t—don’t you ever call me that. You have no right,” He spat the words out like they’d burned him.

The man was standing much closer now yet had still managed to maintain a safe arm’s length between them. Now that M’gann had a few more of the facts, a few more of the _physical_ facts, his skittish behaviour was making a lot more sense.

Again, she felt it all. Even without her telepathic empathy, M’gann had always been a heart-on-her-sleeve kind of Martian. And it had been her who caused him to react like that; her who’d dredged up painful memories for her own selfish agenda.

So, she said exactly what was on her mind.

“I’m sorry.”

Nightwing’s body went rigid, then relaxed, then rigid again, like he was having trouble processing her words. Then the lenses of his mask narrowed at her and he said, “I knew it. Red-five-T-seven.”

M’gann blinked. Then blinked again. _Red what?_

 _“What’s happening?”_ Conner asked telepathically, concern lacing his mental voice, but M’gann studiously tuned him out.

This had to be some kind of code between the two, one Batman and he had likely come up with previously for situations such as this.

Curse Batman’s insufferable (but also apparently justified) paranoia.

Sighing, the Martian delved into his mind before she could talk herself out of it. If he was still under emotional duress, perhaps his mental shields were down.

Then M’gann could figure out the password, get this hissing cat of a vigilante to calm down, and disappear before he had a chance to notice Conner and Wally’s presence.

As far as plans went, it sucked. Sucked a lot, but it was the only one she had.

She felt confusion, anger (a lot of anger, too much for such a little package), and then more. They flew by her face as she swam deeper into the recesses of his mind, barely touching the surface of his thoughts but already feeling drained.

No wonder he was so snappish all the time if he was feeling _this_. It was exhausting. This man needed therapy.

And more sleep. Gosh, he was practically dead on his feet.

Although practically no time passed in the outside world, her attempts at diving into his mind felt like they took hours. Even when Nightwing was seconds away from some kind of emotional breakdown, his mental barriers were still frustratingly strong.

But not strong enough.

She brushed by a sensation that she recognized and paused, feeling it resonate within her own psyche.

 _Aloneness._ And a lot of it.

M’gann knew it well from her time on Mars, before she’d stowed away to Earth and found something that’d filled up every part of her. Found people willing to figure things out alongside her.

And then, right then, while she was still barely scratching the surface of this vigilante’s—no, this _person’s_ mind, M’gann determined something within her own head. She found a resolve and a purpose. Something she was going to make happen even if she had to go against the Justice League to do it.

Dangerous thoughts for a hero, but they were hers all the same.

It would be a rescue mission, of sorts. An intervention. A friendship. There were lots of words for it.

Maybe family, one day.

But, for now, she had a job to do.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I wrote this instead of writing my University applications essay!!!!!!! I am so screwed :D
> 
> But I had to update. Still feel like scum for that cliffhanger last time. (Also if anyone caught any mistakes, plz tell me. I did not have the brain capacity to re-read this O_o)
> 
> Also also, I cannot believe what amazing readers you all are ;-; blows me away every time. Seriously, you folks are the best. Love you all.
> 
> ~ASL


	22. A Punch in the Face (Literally and Figuratively)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The author is Tired™ and hopped up on caffeine hopefully this is readable ✌️

Entering the subconscious mind of an infamous vigilante should’ve been a lot more terrifying, but M’gann felt only guilt.

Guilt over betraying this individual’s trust; guilt over how she was now rifling through what few memories weren’t locked behind those nearly impenetrable mental shields of his.

Time was passing much slower outside their minds, Nightwing’s mouth still in the process of opening as he made ready to say…whatever it was he was going to say.

M’gann was telepathic, not psychic. She couldn’t predict his next words.

Hopefully they wouldn’t have anything to do with her taking a trip to the emergency room. Although, she supposed rather morbidly, since they were already standing on a hospital roof, at least the trip would be a short one.

Pictures, thoughts, and feelings flew by her in a blur. Some of them made sense while others were foreign. Incomprehensible without context. 

A confusing mental picture of some kind of jail cell stuck out to her, the scene deeply connected with _pain_. Kids crowded the walls and bare beds. Was Nightwing a criminal? Was he dodging a sentence?

But then why had all the inmates been children? Perhaps a juvenile detention centre?

…Just how old was he? Surely, he hadn’t gone to prison when he was still acting as Robin. M’gann highly doubted the authorities would let someone that high profile simply walk away.

M’gann shook it off, letting the jail scene and all her questions fade. She’d have to bring it up with the team later. Maybe Artemis would have some insight into Robin’s early days? Out of all of them, she seemed to know the most about Gotham and its dark history.

She managed to go a little deeper, moving further and further, until—

There was another flash of images all entangled complexly with the word _home—_ an old manor house; a ring of brightly coloured tents; a smoggy city scape; the arms of an old, greying man—before M’gann collided headfirst into one of the hardest mental barriers she’d encountered since Psimon.

It was so hard that the Martian was ejected back into her own mind, her legs wobbling as she blinked mulishly, the glowing green of her eyes slowly fading.

Hopefully, Nightwing hadn’t seen their luminescence through the cowl covering her upper face. There hadn’t been anything about that strange _Red-something-something_ code in the thoughts she’d scanned; nothing about an identity or non-vigilante persona.

Wherever those thoughts lay, they were deeply secured behind his mental shields.

When she finally felt settled in her own mind again, she rasped out another weak, “Robin?”

One look at Nightwing’s expression, however, and she knew the jig was up.

His mouth snapped into a thin line as he studied her. What she wouldn’t give to see inside his head right now. “You’re not Batman.”

The man said it like he almost didn’t want to believe it. The lenses of his mask narrowed, as if he was going over their conversation up till that point and running some mental damage control.

 _“What’d we miss?”_ The sudden question sent eddies of pain throughout her skull and she couldn’t resist pressing a hand to her temple.

Whoever had trained Nightwing in shielding really, _really_ knew what they were doing. She was going to have a headache for days. That is, if she survived these next few minutes.

Nightwing took in her pained expression and snapped his fingers to get her attention. “I told you not to root around in my mind, Martian.” His voice was hoarse, but firm. Like he was still in the process of pushing down unspoken panic.

Artemis—for it’d been her voice phrasing the earlier question—tried again. _“M’gann, what’d we miss?”_

M’gann squinted through the pressure pounding her head and saw that Artemis and Aqualad had joined their fellow teammates. Both of them looked immensely confused, like the last thing they’d been expecting to see was a Nightwing v Batman faceoff.

Which, M’gann thought, was fair. The last thing she’d been expecting was to _participate_ in a Nightwing v Batman face off.

The Martian’s distraction turned out to be her undoing.

Nightwing followed her stare to the four heroes standing at the edge of the landing pad, their suits easily distinguishable despite the lack of light. Something unidentifiably dark passed over the vigilante’s face, dark enough to match the tumultuous thoughts she’d glimpsed in his head.

Again, she wasn’t psychic, but she was good enough at reading faces to know when she was in danger.

And, going by his lethal expression, she was _definitely_ in danger.

M’gann, not seeing any sense in keeping Batman’s form, was on the verge of shifting back when there was a blur of motion—a whisper of black fabric, and a fist abruptly flying at her face.

She hadn’t even seen him move. Maybe, if he didn’t tear her apart with his bare hands, M’gann could ask for some hand-to-hand combat practice.

Apparently she was a little rusty.

It was an expertly administered punch. At least, that’s what M’gann’s cracked nose seemed to tell her as bone and cartilage folded under the overwhelming pressure.

If she’d had a headache before, now it felt like someone was banging a mallet against the very epicentre of her brain, shooting blinding pain at the edges of her skull.

Everything blurred together as her head throbbed, eyes watering from the pressure against her nasal cavity.

She thought she heard Conner’s enraged bellowing and Artemis’ foul curses, but everything was moving too fast for her aching mind to make sense of.

A shadow fell over the Martian and there was a slow movement, like someone was squatting beside her. Cool fabric on her nose, fingers aligning themselves with the contours of her face, forming a triangle—then a searing _wrench,_ followed by the sound of bone easing back into its rightful place.

Had he just… _set_ …her nose? After breaking it?

That sent so many conflicting messages she wasn’t sure what to think.

Everything was spinning too quickly for her to focus, but the stinging in her nose definitely told her he’d just wrested the bone back into its place.

Odd. Really odd. And also really painful.

“Well, Miss _Batman_ , you certainly took me by surprise.” That arrogant-angry-sad voice said against the shell of her ear. Then there was another shift of fabric as the presence leaned away. “Though I gotta say, punching you in the face when you looked like that? Concerningly satisfying. Got any therapists you’d recommend?”

She laughed incredulously—hysterically.

How had they not figured out it was Robin before? From the few grainy videos of him up on the web, she could tell their voices were nearly identical.

He sounded a little older now, yes, a little more tired and world-weary; but there was no mistaking it. She’d recognize that legendary, skin-peeling sarcasm anywhere.

Heavy footsteps approached rapidly and M’gann figured they were Conner’s. He was probably on his way to beat Nightwing into a bloody pulp.

The dark shape looming over her vanished, the voices of her team approaching, then there was the whine of a grappling hook to her left and a whoosh of wind.

Or maybe it’d been to her right? M’gann was currently having a hard time telling the two directions apart.

Heavy footsteps quickly approached and she tried smiling, only to feel more blood spill out from between her lips. She must’ve bit the inside of her cheek when he punched her.

M’gann recognized the strong arms encircling her and automatically slumped against them. The unmistakable smell of _Conner_ had her body relaxing immediately in response.

Conner meant safety, forever and always.

“Oh, M’gann,” Artemis’ voice cracked— _when had Artemis gotten here again?_ —as Conner scooped up the Martian into his giant embrace.

M’gann really did like Conner’s arms. Almost as much as she liked his dic—

“He broke her nose,” Artemis ground out, distracting M’gann from her appreciation for her boyfriend’s various…attributes. “The bastard.”

 _But I think I like his eyes the most,_ she determined as Conner stared down at her, his usually smooth countenance an odd combination of concern and murderous intent. No doubt he was already imagining returning Nightwing’s violence.

“Don’t be mad,” She murmured around the blood in her mouth. The world shuddered around her again, but M’gann determinedly hung on to the fading strings of her consciousness. “I think I kind of deserved that. I saw things…I don’t think he wanted anyone to see.”

“I disagree,” Kaldur spoke from the darkness encroaching on her right. _Again, maybe it was her left?_

Artemis hummed her agreement. Wally was uncharacteristically silent at the archer’s side, his cowl scrunched like it often did when the speedster was thinking hard.

M’gann swivelled her aching neck in his direction. Not too many movies showed it, but a person’s neck usually suffered most after a direct punch like that. And the Martian’s was most definitely suffering.

Wally was looking at the blood on her face contemplatively, lips pulled into a tight grimace as if he were imagining her pain. “I don’t know what to think,” He said when she looked at him. “That was. A lot to process.”

M’gann nodded, then shuddered when the simple action sent her head reeling.

“Maybe he had a good reason, maybe he didn’t,” Conner acquiesced. “But I do know that I’m returning the favour next time he comes within punching distance.”

“Amen,” Artemis muttered darkly, her gaze pinned on their suspiciously quiet speedster. M’gann didn’t need their mental link to see the concern in the archer’s green gaze.

“I feel terrible,” M’gann announced into the ensuing silence, blinking against the wave of black threatening to cloud her vision. “He set my nose, though. And made me laugh.” Something else occurred to her, something the others wouldn’t have been close enough to hear. “Oh. He also used to be Robin.”

Then the Martian was unconscious, feeling the black weight of sleep seize her mind in its smothering grip. The last sensation she felt was that of her boyfriend’s arms tightening around her.

She dreamed of wingless birds, falling acrobats, and Conner's eyes.

* * *

Dick _had_ been feeling incredibly angry (note that extremely unsubtle past tense).

The moment he’d spoken Bruce’s stupid code and saw his supposed partner’s blank reaction, his pre-existing suspicions had been confirmed; that was not the Batman he knew.

He was pretty sure some part of him had realized it from the start.

After the initial shock of seeing Bruce in costume had hit him like an ice-bucket challenge, Dick’s mind slowly began to thaw. And the facts hadn’t lined up.

There was no way Bruce could’ve known where he was, especially since Dick had already removed both trackers from his arms—he still had the lumpy scar tissue to prove it. There was no way Bruce would’ve found him on that specific rooftop on this specific night at that specific time.

Batman was good, but not that good.

The logical part of his mind had known it, but the irrational, thick-headedly passionate side of him hadn’t.

Dick landed on another building; the lights of the hospital having disappeared entirely behind him. His movements were automatic as he got lost in his head, thinking through every word that’d left his mouth.

He hadn’t said anything _too_ compromising, had he? Nothing extreme?

Bruce was always saying that his way of feeling everything at once would someday land him in trouble, and it seemed like today was that day. He’d been so caught up in a whirlwind of confusion he hadn’t been able to properly analyze the situation.

And yet, despite Bruce’s warnings, he’d never been able to shut everything down. To just…not feel.

Maybe it was a weakness, like Bruce said. Maybe it was a strength. Dick honestly didn’t know anymore.

A colourful flurry of motion in his peripheral vision startled him, nearly causing his grip to loosen mid-grapple swing in what could’ve been a fatal mistake.

By the time Dick managed to swivel around, he realized it was just a pigeon eating a particularly grungy looking bagel. He sighed, running a hand through his hair.

The pigeon narrowed its eyes when Dick lifted his grappling gun again, like it was daring him to just _try_ and take its food.

Dick flipped his middle-finger at the pigeon before taking off again, ignoring the bird’s indignant squawks.

Another sound on the next rooftop over had him reaching for a birdarang, but it was just a newspaper crinkling in the wind.

Jeez. He was jumpy.

Though, he supposed getting one’s mind cracked open like an egg would do that to a person.

The Martian obviously hadn’t seen any of his important memories, the ones Bruce had taught him to protect no matter the situation. No matter what was happening to his mind or body.

But the ones she had seen, his time in Gotham’s juvenile detention centre, the Wayne Manor. Haly’s circus…

Shaking the memories out of his head, he landed on the edge of another rooftop and stopped to stare into the empty darkness of an alley below.

Most of all, though, he’d known for sure when Batman apologized. Bruce would never.

Sure, he might give Dick a hard-earned compliment once in awhile, or reach across the limo seat after a particularly gruelling gala and pat Dick’s knee: but he’d never, _ever_ apologize.

Ever.

Not even after everything with Jason had Bruce been able to ask forgiveness. Instead, the man had gotten angry and sharp and volatile. That’s when, with a stinging mark on his cheek, Dick had decided it was time to go.

And therein lay the problem. What was slowly eating Dick from the inside.

Today, Dick had done all those same things. He’d been angry with Miss Martian, he’d been hurt; and he’d done exactly what Bruce had done. Lashed out and hurt her.

As soon as Dick did it, he’d felt terrible. Gross. Worse than gross.

It didn’t matter if solving his problems with violence was some learned, conditioned response he’d picked up from Bruce. It didn’t matter if the Martian had been the first one to invade his privacy and totally had it coming.

It’d still felt wrong.

And now here he sat. On some random Bludhaven roof, mooting around and feeling sorry for himself.

Self-awareness _sucked_.

Somehow, worst of all, when his fist had connected with her face (again, he still felt horrible for it) Dick had abruptly realized he actually liked her.

He didn’t hate the green-skinned hero anymore. Didn’t hate any of the Young Justice team members.

They were resourceful, frustratingly funny, and bitingly sarcastic. They weren’t at all like Bruce said they would be: full of themselves and fighting each other for the spotlight.

Still utterly useless when it came to reconnaissance, definitely, but stealth missions weren’t for everyone. And they were trustworthy. They kept each others’ secrets, they kept League secrets.

They fought together and they lost together and maybe, just maybe, Dick could fight with them too?

He’d just arrived at some sort of conclusion, a sort of half-baked plan forming in the back of his mind, when there was another blur in corner of his vision and a light _thump._

Assuming it was just another dirty street pigeon losing its pea-sized mind over some gutter bagel, he didn’t bother looking; too caught in his spinning thoughts.

 _Yes_ , he thought. _It just might work._ From what he’d seen of the Team, they were forgiving. They were trustworthy. Maybe they’d—

Suddenly there was a strong pair of hands on his back, pressing between his shoulder blades, a _push_ , and Dick’s stomach turned inside out.

Then, he was falling.

* * *

One minute he was sitting on the edge of a Bludhaven roof, having a lovely little introspection session, the next he was plummeting towards a reeking, overfilled Bludhaven dumpster.

Dick barely had time to wrap his arms around his head before he was slamming into the trash below, his ankle thwacking against the metal rim of the dumpster with an ominous _crunch_.

He was tempted, for a moment, to just lie among the soiled clothes, discarded electronics, and moldy food.

He could contemplate what crimes he’d committed in a past life that justified him ending up here—maybe it was karma for flipping off that pigeon. Maybe he was just an extremely unlucky individual. Maybe the universe hated him—but, whatever the reason, a shadow above had him quickly springing to his feet.

His ankle bore his weight but throbbed with every step. Twisted, perhaps, but at least it wasn’t broken.

The garbage had softened the fall, but his torso still ached with what would surely be bruises later.

Crouching into a defensive stance, he snapped his escrima sticks into his hand and tried to clear his mind.

It didn’t work. He could still feel the remnants of Miss Martina’s power in his head, combing through his thoughts. It made him feel sick.

A figure dropped from the roof above, plummeting like a stone and landing so hard they broke pavement. Cracks spiralled away from their feet and Dick realized that, whatever he was fighting, likely wasn’t human.

For a second, he thought it might be Conner come to hunt Dick down Terminator-style for punching his girlfriend. But then the figure straightened, and Dick felt all the air in his lungs escape in a whoosh.

They were muscled and huge, borderline hulking, but looked thin. Like their skin-to-muscle ratio was off: too much mass for not enough flesh. There were rips in the seams of the figure’s arms and neck.

They looked like a walking corpse.

However, that wasn’t what caused Dick to stumble back, his ankle wobbling.

No. It was because he recognized the man, who’d hardly been a man last Dick saw him.

“Bollocks?” Dick breathed out, feeling like he’d just gotten punched in the chest. Which he technically had. By a dumpster, no less.

(Did he mention that the universe hated him? Because, at this point, he was fairly certain the universe hated him).

The man grinned, his teeth catching what little light there was in the dim alleyway. Cold, calculating. Not at all like the rookie cop he’d been mere weeks ago. “Hello, Detective Grayson. Did you miss me?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am _so sorry_ about the cliffhanger. Like in my little plot-plan I literally have a note that says 'Don't leave them at a cliffhanger here you little [redacted curse words]'. (Also, fun fact, when Dick sets M'gann's nose, that's actually how you do it. like it's really that easy :O)
> 
> I'm right in the middle of finals right now and just have _zero_ time and/or energy to write extra. like I don't even know if this chapter's in english that's how tired i am. or waht day it is
> 
> if you catch any mistakes, lemme know and i'll try and fix em. i think my blood is pure caffeine at this point
> 
> Thanks for reading, it means a lot. i srsly appreciate you all <3 but gosh i am also a very tired creature goodnight 
> 
> ~ASL


	23. A Banana Projectile Gets Projected

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which the author beats up Dick (again) and Nightwing experiences some ~personal growth~
> 
> CW: (There's also some violence, but nothing too graphic I think?)

This…couldn’t be real. He’d watched Bollocks die; dove at him as a bullet went right through the other man’s skull.

Were zombies a thing he was going to have to deal with now? Because Dick was not emotionally equipped to deal with zombies.

Despite his disbelief, Dick had also seen a lot of strange things in his life. So…maybe? Then again, this could all be some trauma-induced psychosis causing Dick to finally lose his mind.

But those hands on his back, pushing him from the roof, had been real, as were the cracks in the pavement. Very, very real.

Bollocks, if that was really him, grinned again as Dick took another stumbling step back.

“What?” His mind raced, slowly scrabbling at clues that weren’t aligning themselves properly in his head. _M’gann again? No. An illusion? No. Fake? No. Insanity??? …Possibly._ “How?”

His voice cracked over the word and he cleared his throat, shoving away his frayed emotions so he couldn’t get distracted by their clamouring confusion.

It didn’t matter if Bollocks was here, alive and suddenly looking like an undead WWE champion. He could puzzle out the _hows_ and _whys_ later.

Bollocks took a step forward, his body moving with fluid grace. Unnatural grace. There was no way a rookie like Bollocks had mastered that through normal means in a matter of weeks.

When he was supposed to be dead, no less.

“Admiring my new modifications?” The man—could he even be called that anymore?—asked, taking another one of those feline-esque steps in Dick’s direction “My master’s work has turned out most excellently.”

Dick’s back pressed up against the alley’s dead-end wall and he couldn’t figure out whether that was a good thing or not.

On the one hand, there wouldn’t be any attacks from behind. On the other, he was also cornered by a recently resurrected co-worker who was currently belting out a supervillain laugh like he was trying for an Oscar.

And again with the whole ‘master’ thing? What connected Bollocks, who was a previously dead rookie cop, to characters like Sniper and Copperhead?

This whole situation was starting to sound like a bad joke. And give Dick a massive headache.

 _Why me?_ Dick thought distantly as Bollock’s laughter cut off just as quickly as it’d started. _Why couldn’t I have become a crossing guard? Or a librarian?_ Surely _they_ didn’t have to deal with stuff like—

A fist colliding with his stomach sent all other thoughts flying out of his skull.

Bollocks had been standing several feet away one minute, then the next he was in front of Dick and delivering a nasty blow.

The vigilante’s head collided with the brick behind it, his breath exiting in a wheezy gasp.

“Hm,” Bollock’s bare feet scraped the pavement as he took a step back, surveying Dick with a detached stare. “He said you had an excellent reaction time, but that was rather pathetic. Of course, I am a little special now.” The man flexed his fists, stretched-too-thin skin splitting even further. “Much more special than you.”

Dick didn’t give two shakes of a rat’s ass how special Bollocks was. And he would’ve said so, too, if his lungs hadn’t been currently collapsing in on themselves.

“You’re probably wondering how I’m still alive,” Bollocks was watching him now, looking disturbingly like a spider that’d just caught a particularly interesting fly. There was nothing left of that rookie cop in his eyes, just cold, glittering intelligence.

Dick grunted in response and, unable to articulate his real thoughts on the matter, stuck up his middle finger. Bollocks could interpret that however he liked.

In hindsight, antagonizing the super-strong and clearly unhinged individual wasn’t the best idea. Especially when that single blow to his stomach had already hit harder than any of Bruce’s practice punches.

But Dick was still feeling out of it, like he was underwater. Like his reality filter had broken after M’gann’s little Batman impersonation; like he was trapped in some kind of giant, soundproof bubble.

In fact, how did he know this _wasn’t_ more Martian mind games? That she wasn’t impersonating his dead partner to figure out more about him?

(He knew he was being ridiculous. Ridiculous and paranoid and illogical). The Martian would never do this to him. Not after how she’d genuinely apologized earlier.

Yet the rest of his mind didn’t seem to know that. Hadn’t quite caught the memo yet.

He suspected this probably had something to do with ‘trauma’ but, unfortunately, there weren’t any therapists in this dark, dirty Bludhaven alleyway to confirm his theory.

The unexpected sensation of hands around his neck cut off Dick’s thought process, his already ragged breathing blocked off completely.

Still, despite the way his hard-earned survival instincts were screaming at him, it felt as though his mind were trapped in goo. Stuck.

 _How did he think again?_ Why _did he think again? And why was he fighting this if Bollock’s death was technically his fault? Didn’t he kind of deserve this? Why was he even fighting in the first pla—_

The hands around his throat loosened and Dick blinked against the black dots swarming his vision. _Oxygen deprivation, fan-flipping-tastic._

Even those thoughts were distant. What was wrong with him?

Shock? Some kind of delayed fear response after seeing Not-Actually-Bruce on the hospital roof earlier?

Another fist flashed towards his stomach and Dick recoiled, slamming against the hard brick of the alley wall. But at least he hadn’t sustained another one of those devastating hits.

His breathing strained against the crushed sensation in his throat and he pressed a hand against the bruises there, allowing his thoughts of _ouch ouch ouch_ to ground him in the present moment.

“You know, when he said you’d be vulnerable, I wasn’t expecting _this_ ,” Bollocks was leaning in again, his gaunt face filling Dick’s field of vision. His breath reeked of decay and other, less pleasant things. “I could beat you in my sleep like thi—”

Dick shuddered. At this rate, the bad breath was going to kill him before Bollocks managed to.

With a grunt, he smashed his forehead into Bollock’s with an ominous _crack_.

Withholding a few choice curse words at the unpleasant throbbing in his skull (he knew how to headbutt properly, but _damn_ it still hurt), Dick fumbled for his escrima sticks as Bollocks stumbled backwards.

“You know,” The vigilante spat out a glob of blood. Either he’d bitten the inside of his cheek or had fluid in his lungs, hopefully the latter, “when you first started monologuing, I thought fighting you might actually prove a challenge. Nice to know even the best can be wrong sometimes.”

Despite the bravado in his tone, those black spots were starting to swim in front of his eyes again.

Perhaps nearly splitting his own skull open hadn’t been the best idea after all.

He waited for Bruce’s chiding voice, telling him what he could’ve done better, but heard nothing. Just ringing silence.

And then he turned, and Bruce wasn’t there. But, of course he wasn’t there. Why had he expected him to be?

Dick blinked, swiping at his face with his suit’s grimy sleeve. What was _happening_ to him right now?

“—hate you. I hate all of you!” Bollock’s was spitting mad, face contorted beyond recognition and his pupils so wide they looked black, but his voice kept fading in and out. Dick’s hearing was apparently taking a temporary leave of absence.

At this point, Dick calculated he had approximately two chances of survival; keep Zombie Detective talking until there was an opening for escape, or snap out of this weird brain fog and beat Bollocks to a bloody pulp.

Given how his mind was still reeling, Dick decided to go with option one.

“What was that?” Dick slid into a defensive position that didn’t require as much weight on his ankle, which was starting to teeter. “I was having a crisis, didn’t quite catch it.”

If Bollock’s was angry before, he now looked downright deadly.

“You heroes!” He growled, like a literal bear. “Always preaching about the greater good while you mess things up for everyone else. Destroying buildings and hurting civilians, then getting a ‘clap on the back’ for knocking out the bad guy. Not to mention the publicity. Can’t go without your weekly interviews, can you? Leashed to the government. Makes me _sick_.”

Dick tightened his hold on the escrima sticks, uncomfortable put off by Bollock’s train of thought. Something about it struck a cord in his mind, like it was familiar…like it was…..

Exactly what he used to think about heroes. Before he met some for himself, that is.

As Bollocks continued to rage, spittle flying and his voice becoming increasingly loud, Dick realized that’s what he used to look like.

Albeit without the spit and unnecessary shouting, but the content was the same.

He used to think all the heroes were in it for glory, for the thrill of throwing a villain around. However, Dick had come to realize that they really believed the stuff they said.

That crap about things like ‘justice’, ‘world peace’, or ‘cooperation’ wasn’t for show. They really, truly thought it was possible.

And, in that moment, Dick made a choice. One that was probably going to screw him over later. One that would lead to some really, really awkward conversations, but also one that was long overdue.

It was his choice. Not Bruce’s, not the Justice League’s. Not even the Team’s.

 _His_.

Now he just had to survive this encounter so he could act on it later.

“You’re all hypocrites!” Bollocks screamed, apparently not having run out of air yet. “You’re all—”

With newfound clarity, Dick readied himself, escrima sticks tucked close to his sides.

“Yeah?” He goaded, “And who’s this ‘he’ that you’re following? He the one that made you look like a Walking Dead extra? Does he get his rocks off having a zombie freak around?”

Another bellow and Bollocks was snapping forward, quicker than lightning. He was fast, superhumanly fast.

If Dick hadn’t been expecting it, dodging would’ve been impossible. Even as he was, partially asphyxiated and limping like a lamb, Bollock’s fist nearly clipped the top of Dick’s head as the vigilante ducked into a somersault.

Bounding to his feet again, Dick yanked three birdarangs out, situated them between his fingers, and flung them.

There was a _hiss_ —Bollock’s grunting—the thunk of a blade entering flesh, then a swiping motion too quick for Dick to follow.

Bollocks was bleeding from two wounds now, familiar metal embedded in his ligaments. Places that would hopefully slow him down.

But in his hand he held the third birdirang, its glinting surface catching the guttering light of a street lamp.

Dick swallowed. Had Bollocks just grabbed that out of the air?

He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to fight an opponent this skilled or genetically altered right now. His ankle still shuddered with every step he took and his previous injuries, even the mostly healed gash on his leg, were starting to slow him down.

Bollocks snapped his wrist in one smooth, very unpolice-like motion.

There was a whine as the birdarang flew from his fingers and Dick barely had enough time to spin out of its path, cold metal streaking hot pain across the plane of his cheek.

It’d nicked him. A second later, and it could’ve severed the tendons in his upper jaw.

“Shoot,” He muttered, clapping a hand to the cut. Shallow. Hardly more than a scratch, but it’d could’ve been much worse.

“You should know I don’t like your tricks, even if my master does.” Bollocks, as if he were simply plucking a daisy from a field, yanked one of the birdarangs from his shoulder.

 _Plink_ , it rattled against the dirty pavement, soon to be followed by another _plink_ as he seized the one poking out of his knee.

There was a rush of blood from both wounds, then—nothing. The wounds continued to bleed, the liquid black and oily looking.

At least he didn’t have any accelerated healing powers.

“He thinks your antics are amusing. Clever, even.” Bollocks sneered, “He finds everything about you amusing, actually. Even your stupid jokes.”

“Screw you,” Dick spat, subtly eyeing the jutting roof of an apartment building above. Would he be able to scale it in time? “I’m hilarious.”

“That right there,” The man—creature? Whatever—rolled his eyes in an oddly human gesture. “Master would find that stirring.”

He moved so fast there was no way Dick could even hope to react in time. An ankle hooked around the vigilante’s bad leg and sent him tumbling. He managed to throw up his escrima sticks in front of his face, just in time to ward off a flurry of increasingly powerful punches.

His back was shoved against the alley wall. The stinking scent of nearby dumpster clogged his nostrils and made him gag, but he locked his arms in place.

Apparently deciding beating Dick’s brains out wasn’t nearly enough fun, Bollocks changed tactics and rammed his knee into Dick’s unprotected stomach.

For the second time in so many minutes, Dick felt the air _whoosh_ out of his esophagus, sending him sputtering again.

His opponent wasted no time in seizing the back of his neck, fingers cutting off his airway, and slamming him into the metal rim of the dumpster.

Dick grunted. What were the people of Bludhaven _eating?_ Their trash reeked.

Again, what little air was left in his lungs fled his body. Again, he made a noise like a dying fish. Again, this stupid dumpster was kicking his ass.

He slumped against it, his fingers scrabbling at its grimy rim while he tried his best to look defeated (which, admittedly, wasn’t that hard). Keeled over, Dick hoped Bollock’s wouldn’t see his hand closing over the nearest throwable object.

All he needed was a distraction—a few seconds to get his grappling hook situated and take aim.

“I wasn’t supposed to snap anything in you, no broken bones. He was very clear about that,” Bollocks ruminated, tapping his chin in faux contemplation. “But your neck is looking very tempti—”

Before he could finish, Dick swivelled on his screaming ankle and lobbed the object at Bollocks. Days and hours spent throwing projectiles made the throw one of deadly accuracy, meaning the object—a half-mushed and very rotten banana—split against Bollock’s gaping mouth like…only a half-mushed and very rotten banana could split.

While Bollocks was distracted, Dick heaved away from the dumpster and re-positioned himself, sliding another set of birdirangs into his grip. He just needed an opening, to incapacitate Bollocks for a few seconds…

The creature’s, Dick was currently having a very hard time thinking of Bollocks as human, almost brought down the very rooftops with his roaring.

“I’ll—I’ll _kill_ you!” Bollocks spat and cursed, his stomping foot cracking the cement where it landed. “I don’t care what he says! I’ll _kill_ you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll kill you I’ll—”

Dick, figuring he’d already picked out a coffin so he might as well sign a death warrant too, flicked his fingers in a ‘come at me’ motion. “Go bananas, you undead hero wannabe.”

In hindsight, antagonizing the genetically altered sort-of co-worker that he’d also sort-of gotten killed wasn’t Dick’s brightest moment. In fact, it was likely in his top ten dimmest.

There was another bout of enraged roaring followed up by curses so vile they’d have made a sailor’s ears bleed, then Bollocks was charging.

Dick dodged the first attack with ease, but then felt his ankle nearly buckle and realized that, _maybe_ , he’d bitten off more than he could chew.

The crackling slap that followed nearly sent what little was left of Dick’s brain flying out of his skull.

“Hey,” He gasped, ducking under a particularly heavy blow that would’ve sent him through the nearest wall. He gestured at his neck and adjacent head. “I need that.”

A bellowing shout was all he got in response. Real articulate, this Bollocks guy was. He should consider starting his own talk-show.

“Must’ve went wild over those vocabulary words back in kindergarten.” Dick murmured. His mouth was literally going to be the death of him. “Won all those school spelling bees.”

Stumbling to his feet, Dick spun on his aching ankle and tossed the birdarangs in quick procession, letting out a grunt of triumphant when they all hit home. Bollocks stumbled, his knee cracking the pavement as he was brought low.

Dick took advantage of his opponent’s weakness and flew into action, getting a few good blows in with his escrima stick before blessing Bollocks with a roundhouse kick-in-the-face.

Dark, almost black blood sprayed from Bollock’s mouth as his head jerked back, neck strained by the unnatural angle.

Grinning, blood slipping from between his own teeth, Dick readjusted his weapon and slammed it into Bollock’s sternum before planting a heavy boot on the man’s chest.

It seemed the monster (ex-cop?) had forgotten that, even though he was injured, Dick did actually know what he was doing.

Most of the time.

Occasionally.

Really only when it came to fighting; Alfred always said he was hopeless in situations where common sense was required. 

Dick was just beginning to think he’d broken Bollock’s jaw when the man spat, something white—was that a _tooth?_ —flying out of his mouth. “This is on you!” He started, eyes wild and bloodshot. “You killed me, threw me aside like some disposable doll, and now I’m here.”

He waited for the guilt. That soul crushing whisper of _this is all your fault_ , but it never came.

Because Dick…hadn’t gotten him killed. Not really.

It was easy to blame himself for things like this, but, staring down at where Bollocks lay underneath Nightwing’s boot, he didn’t think he needed to.

 _Dick_ hadn’t been the one to hire Sniper, _Dick_ hadn’t sat up in that warehouse’s rafters and aimed the gun. Dick hadn’t made Bollocks become an officer or asked for him to be his partner.

It was terrible that the man died, no question. Dick would regret that forever…

But, although he’d probably never really stop feeling bad about it—especially with Bollocks staring up at him with bulging eyes and peeling skin—Dick wasn’t going to blame himself anymore.

He didn’t even know if that was possible, but he was going to try. Starting that night.

“It’s not my fault.” He said quietly, hardly more than a whisper, but he knew Bollocks heard by the way his trembling form stilled. “And it wasn’t yours either. Sometimes bad things just happen, and you’re left to pick up the pieces. Sometimes bad things happen and you end up dead. That’s life. That’s not my fault.”

Dick sucked in a breath through his nose, ignoring the way it rattled his bones, and raised his escrima stick. If he hit Bollocks just right on the temple, he’d have enough time to scale the building and—

Something surfaced in Bollock’s eyes as he stared up at the vigilante, something undeniably human.

He looked like that rookie cop again, hand drifting too close to his holster. Terrified over Dick’s maniacal driving.

It was there for barely a second and, later, Dick thought it possible he’d imagined it, but it was enough to cause him pause.

“…Bollocks?” He asked, his escrima pausing in its downward swing.

That single hesitation proved to be Dick’s doom.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm baaaaaack!!!!!!@#$% I cannot thank you all enough for your patience while I recovered my computer data, I don't know how I ended up with such incredible readers <333
> 
> (Seriously, you're all so kind ;-; pat yourselves on the back, have a cookie. Or don't. I love you all)
> 
> Anywho, lemme know if you spotted any mistakes in this chapter!!! I tried to make it a lil' disjointed to reflect Dick's current mental state, so hopefully I was successful 🤞
> 
> (also.......................we may/may not be getting an identity reveal next chapter ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) stay tuned)
> 
> ~ASL


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